As I, below the mornèn sky,

Wer out a workèn in the lew shelter

O’ black-stemm'd thorns, a-springèn high,

Avore the worold-boundèn blue,

A-reäkèn, under woak tree boughs, oak

The orts a-left behin’ by cows, left-overs of hay

Above the grey-grow'd thistle rings,

An’ deäisy-buds, the lark, in flight,

Did zing a-loft, wi’ flappèn wings,

Tho’ mwore in heärèn than in zight;

The while my bwoys, in plaÿvul me'th, mirth

Did run till they wer out o’ breath.

Then woone, wi’ han’-besheäded eyes, one

A-stoppèn still, as he did run,

Look'd up to zee the lark arise

A-zingèn to the high-gone zun;

The while his brother look'd below

Vor what the groun’ mid have to show. might

Zoo woone did watch above his head so

The bird his hands could never teäke;

An’ woone, below, where he did tread,

Vound out the nest within the breäke;

But, aggs be only woonce a-vound, eggs, once

An’ uncaught larks ageän mid sound.