Now day by day, at lofty height,
O zummer noons, the burnèn zun
'Ve a-show'd avore our eastward zight,
The sky-blue zide ov Hameldon,
An' shone ageän, on new-mow'd ground,
Wi' haÿ a-piled up grey in pook,
An' down on leäzes, bennet-brown'd,
An' wheat a-vell avore the hook;
Till, under elems tall,
The leaves do lie on leänèn lands,
In leäter light o' Fall.
An' last year, we did zee the red
O' dawn vrom Ash-knap's thatchen oves,
An' walk on crumpled leaves a-laid
In grassy rook-trees' timber'd groves,
Now, here, the cooler days do shrink
To vewer hours o' zunny sky,
While zedge, a-weävèn by the brink
O' shallow brooks, do slowly die.
An' on the timber tall,
The boughs, half beäre, do bend above
The bulgèn banks in Fall.
There, we'd a spring o' water near,
Here, water's deep in wink-draïn'd wells,
The church 'tis true, is nigh out here,
Too nigh wi' vive loud-boomèn bells.
There, naïghbours wer vull wide a-spread,
But vo'k be here too clwose a-stow'd.
Vor childern now do stun woone's head,
Wi' naïsy plaÿ bezide the road,
Where big so well as small,
The little lad, an' lump'rèn lout,
Do leäp an' laugh theäse Fall.
