If I've a-stream'd below a storm,
An' not a-velt the raïn,
An' if I ever velt me warm,
In snow upon the plaïn,
'Twer when, as evenèn skies wer dim,
An' vields below my eyes wer dim,
I went alwone at evenèn-fall,
Athirt the vields to Ivy Hall.
I voun' the wind upon the hill,
Last night, a-roarèn loud,
An' rubbèn boughs a-creakèn sh'ill
Upon the ashes' sh'oud;
But oh! the reelèn copse mid groan;
An' timber's lofty tops mid groan;
The hufflèn winds be music all,
Bezide my road to Ivy Hall.
A sheädy grove o' ribbèd woaks,
Is Wootton's shelter'd nest,
An' woaks do keep the winter's strokes
Vrom Knapton's evenèn rest.
An' woaks ageän wi' bossy stems,
An' elems wi' their mossy stems,
Do rise to screen the leafy wall
An' stwonèn ruf ov Ivy Hall.
The darksome clouds mid fling their sleet.
An' vrost mid pinch me blue,
Or snow mid cling below my veet,
An' hide my road vrom view.
The winter's only jaÿ ov heart,
An' storms do meäke me gaÿ ov heart,
When I do rest, at evenèn-fall,
Bezide the he'th ov Ivy Hall.
There leafy stems do clim' around
The mossy stwonèn eaves;
An' there be window-zides a-bound
Wi' quiv'rèn ivy-leaves.
But though the sky is dim 'ithout,
An' feäces mid be grim 'ithout,
Still I ha' smiles when I do call,
At evenèn-tide, at Ivy Hall.
