Classic Poem

O' SMALL-FEAC'D flow'r that now dost bloom
To stud wi' white the shallow Frome,
An' leäve the clote to spread his flow'r
On darksome pools o' stwoneless Stour,
When sof'ly-rizen airs do cool
The water in the sheenen pool,
Thy beds o' snow-white buds do gleam
So feäir upon the sky-blue stream,
As whitest clouds, a-hangen high
Avore the blueness o' the sky;
An' there, at hand, the thin-heäir'd cows,
In airy sheädes o' withy boughs,
Or up bezide the mossy rails,
Do stan' an' zwing their heavy tails,
The while the ripplen stream do flow
Below the dousty bridge's bow;
An' quiv'ren water-gleams do mock
The weäves, upon the sheäded rock;
An' up athirt the copen stwone
The laitren bwoy do leän alwone,
A-watchen, wi' a stedvast look,
The vallen waters in the brook,
The while the zand o' time do run
An' leäve his errand still undone.
An' oh! as long's thy buds would gleam
Above the softly-sliden stream,
While sparklen zummer-brooks do run
Below the lofty-climen zun,
I only wish that thou could'st staÿè
Vor noo man's harm, an' all men's jaÿè.
But no, the waterman 'ull weäde
Thy water wi' his deadly bleäde,
To slaÿè thee even in thy bloom,
Fair small-feäced flower o' the Frome.