Zummer Thoughts In Winter Time

Well, aye, last evenèn, as I shook
  My locks ov haÿ by Leecombe brook.
  The yollow zun did weakly glance
  Upon the winter meäd askance,
  A-castèn out my narrow sheäde
  Athirt the brook, an' on the meäd.
  The while ageän my lwonesome ears
  Did russle weatherbeäten spears,
  Below the withy's leafless head
  That overhung the river's bed;
  I there did think o' days that dried
  The new-mow'd grass o' zummer-tide,
  When white-sleev'd mowers' whetted bleädes
  Rung sh'ill along the green-bough'd gleädes,
  An' maïdens gaÿ, wi' plaÿsome chaps,
  A-zot wi' dinners in their laps,
  Did talk wi' merry words that rung
  Around the ring, vrom tongue to tongue;
  An' welcome, when the leaves ha' died,
  Be zummer thoughts in winter-tide.