WHILE down the meäds wound slow,

Water vor green-wheel'd mills,

Over the streams bright bow, arc

Win’ come vrom dark-back'd hills.

Birds on the win’ shot along down steep

Slopes, wi’ a swift-swung zweep.

Dim weän'd the red streak'd west.

Lim’-weary souls “Good-rest.”

Up on the plough'd hill brow,

Still wer the zull's wheel'd beam, plough's

Still wer the red-wheel'd plough, wagon

Free o’ the strong limb'd team,

Still wer the shop that the smith meäde ring,

Dark where the sparks did spring;

Low shot the zun's last beams.

Lim’-weary souls “Good dreams.”

Where I vrom dark bank-sheädes

Turn'd up the west hill road,

Where all the green grass bleädes

Under the zunlight glow'd,

Startled I met, as the zunbeams plaÿ'd

Light, wi’ a zunsmote maïd, gently

Come vor my day's last zight.

Zun-brighten'd maïd “Good night.”