Classic Poem

As clouds did ride wi' heästy flight,
An' woods did swäy upon the height,
An' bleädes o' grass did sheäke, below
The hedge-row bremble's swingen bow,
I come back hwome where winds did zwell,
In whirls along the woody gleädes,
On primrwose beds, in windy sheädes,
To Burnley's dark-tree'd dell.

There hills do screen the timber's bough,
The trees do screen the leäze's brow,
The timber-sheäded leäze do bear
A beäten path that we do wear.
The path do stripe the leäze's zide,
To willows at the river's edge.
Where hufflen winds did sheäke the zedge,
An' sparklen weäves did glide.

An' where the river, bend by bend,
Do dräin our meäd, an' mark its end,
The hangen leäze do teäke our cows,
An' trees do sheäde em wi' their boughs,
An' I the quicker beät the road,
To zee a-comen into view,
Still greener vrom the sky-line's blue,
Wold Burnley our abode.