Classic Poem

Though black the winter clouds did rise,
To back the rick's brown tip,
Though dark did reach the leafless hedge,
An' bark o' trees did drip,
Wi' health an' work an' livelihood
I never pin'd vor others' good.

As down along the elem grove,
All brown wi' leaves a-shed,
Where round the ivy-hooded thorn
The ground wer dry to tread,
I then did walk in hwome, wi' pride,
A-voot, all heedless who should ride.

A-come vrom evenen's chilly sheädes,
In hwome I took at night
My pleäce within the settle's back,
Wi' feäce in vier light,
While words an' hands an' looks an' smiles
Beguil'd my mind ov all my tweiles.

Then high above the hollow tun
Did cry the wind, an' low
Did sound bezide my window peänes,
An' round my pworches bow;
Noo sadness then wer in its moan,
A-drown'd by vaices wi' my own.

How sweetly then the runnen weäves
Did meet the mossy rock,
Or quickly flappen fleämes did plaÿè
By tickens ov the clock;
But now their sounds be sad to hear,
Since woone sweet tongue noo mwore is near.