Classic Poem

There's places in our village streets
Where I dearly loved to be
The round cross full o' stoney seats
At the Stable and the tree
The brown bleached Oaks they sit upon
Where the old Roll still remain
And still I love to walk alone
Down the Peartree Lane

The Elm trees o'er our Garden wall
How beautiful they grew
Where ring Doves from their nest would call
And the vein leaved Ivy grew
At the old house end while one hugh Elm
That turned a whole days rain
Storm roared as 'twould the town o'erwhelm
Twas shelter down the lane

The blacksmiths shed the Coblers shop
Chock holes and marble rings
By the Cross steps the spinning top
Are memorable things
The schoolboys love at morn and eve'
When spring comes in again
But nought can beat the primrose leaves
Down Peartrees dirty lane

There the Bumbarrel build[s] her nest
On early green white thorn
The Chaffinch shews her ruddy breast
O'er her Lichen nest at morn
The Mavis there at Christmas time
Begins his early strain
And dead Oak leaves though glazed i' rime
Look dear in Peartree Lane

The woodland stile the broken gap
And day lights peeping moon
Where red cloaked goody fills her lap
To boil the kettle soon
Anemonies peep through the hedge
Hedgesparrows find a strain
Theres nothing i' the world I pledge
Like dear old Peartree Lane.