The Clote (Water-Lily)

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O zummer clote! when the brook’s a-glidèn
 So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed,
Upon thy broad leaves so seäfe a-ridèn
 The water’s top wi’ thy yollow head,
  By alder sheädes, O,
  An’ bulrush beds, O,
Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!

The grey-bough’d withy’s a leänèn lowly
 Above the water thy leaves do hide;
The bènden bulrush, a-swaÿèn slowly,
 Do skirt in zummer thy river’s zide;
  An’ perch in shoals, O,
  Do vill the holes, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Oh! when thy brook-drinkèn flow’r’s a-blowèn,
 The burnèn zummer’s a-zettèn in;
The time o’ greenness, the time o’ mowèn,
 When in the häy-vield, wi’ zunburnt skin,
  The vo’k do drink, O,
  Upon the brink, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Wi’ eärms a-spreadèn, an’ cheäks a-blowèn,
 How proud wer I when I vu’st could swim
Athirt the deep pleäce where thou bist growèn,
 Wi’ thy long more vrom the bottom dim;
  While cows, knee-high, O,
  In brook, wer nigh, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Ov all the brooks drough the meäds a-windèn,
 Ov all the meäds by a river’s brim,
There’s nwone so feäir o’ my own heart’s vindèn
 As where the maïdens do zee thee zwim,
  An’ stan’ to teäke, O,
  Wi’ long-stemm’d reäke, O,
Thy flow’r afloat, goolden zummer clote!

© William Barnes