Classic Poem

Ah! Jeäne, if you do come to dwell
Wi' me at hwome in woak-tree dell,
Noo coaches' wheels, wi' glitt'ren spwokes,
Do roll on there wi' high-born vo'ks,
Nor high-necked hosses in their pride
O' zilver harness, zide by zide,
Wi' trotten veet, a-beäten loud
The zun-burnt road wi' swiftest peäce,
Do stir a wind ageän oone's feäce,
A-beären dowst up in a cloud.

But where the woaks do cast their sheädes,
On flow'ry grasses' whindlen bleädes,
Wi' vewer works o' man in zight,
You there mid have, in stiller light,
The mwore o' God's; an' vor the sounds
O' men a-ringen in the grounds,
The goocoo is a-heärd at noon,
An' then the culver's low hoo, hoo,
In grove above the evenen dew,
An' nightengeäle below the moon.

I'd sooner have your faithvul soul,
Than heartless naighbours in a shoal;
An' soon a-bed, an' eärly up,
Than mornen sleep, on night's vull cup;
Vor souls a long day's zun do tire,
Do little heed the stars' peäle vire.
Zoo happy I, if you mid dwell,
Wi' me down where the clote do blow
Upon the stream a-winden slow,
Among the woaks in woak-tree dell.