When wintry weather’s all a-done, An’ brooks do sparkle in the zun, An’ naisy-builden rooks do vlee Wi’ sticks toward their elem tree; When birds do zing, an’ we can zee

O spread ageaen your leaves an’ flow’rs, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands! Here underneath the dewy show’rs O’ warm-air’d spring-time, zunny woodlan… As when, in drong or open ground,

Aye, back at Leaedy-Day, you know, I come vrom Gullybrook to Stowe; At Leaedy-Day I took my pack O’ rottletraps, an’ turn’d my back Upon the weather-beaeten door,

Last Easter Jim put on his blue Frock cwoat, the vu’st time—vier new; Wi’ yollow buttons all o’ brass, That glitter’d in the zun lik’ glass; An’ pok’d 'ithin the button-hole

An’ zoo o’ Monday we got drough Our work betimes, an ax’d a vew Young vo’k vrom Stowe an’ Coom, an’ zom… Vrom uncle’s down at Grange, to come. An’ they so spry, wi’ merry smiles,

The dock-leaves that do spread so wide Up yonder zunny bank’s green zide, Do bring to mind what we did do At play wi’ dock-leaves years agoo: How we,—when nettles had a-stung

Ov all the birds upon the wing Between the zunny showers o’ spring,- Vor all the lark, a-swingen high, Mid zing below a cloudless sky, An’ sparrows, clust’ren roun’ the bough,

Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white, ’Tis Woodcom’ feaest, good now! to-nigh… Come! think noo mwore, you silly maid, O’ chicken drown’d, or ducks a-stray’d; Nor mwope to vind thy new frock’s tail

O Poll’s the milk-maid o’ the farm! An’ Poll’s so happy out in groun’, Wi’ her white pail below her eaerm As if she wore a goolden crown. An’ Poll don’t zit up half the night,

The girt woak tree that’s in the dell! There’s noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an’ times when I wer young, I there’ve a-climbed, an’ there’ve a-zwu… An’ picked the eacorns green, a-shed

Aye, the girt elem tree out in little hw… Wer a-stannen this mornen, an’ now’s a-c… Aye, the girt elem tree, so big roun’ an… Where the mowers did goo to their drink,… In the sheaede ov his head, when the zun…

Ah! John! how I do love to look At theaese green hollor, an’ the brook Among the withies that do hide The stream, a-growen at the zide; An’ at the road athirt the wide

Ah! they vew zummers brought us round The happiest days that we’ve a-vound, When in the orcha’d, that did stratch To westward out avore the patch Ov high-bough’d wood, an’ shelve to catc…

Now the light o’ the west is a-turn’d to… An’ the men be at hwome vrom ground; An’ the bells be a-zenden all down the… From tower, their mwoansome sound. An’ the wind is still,

Come out o’ door, ’tis Spring! ’tis May The trees be green, the vields be gay; The weather’s warm, the winter blast, Wi’ all his train o’ clouds, is past; The zun do rise while vo’k do sleep,

Oh! Bob the fiddler is the pride O’ chaps an’ maidens vur an’ wide; They can’t keep up a merry tide, But Bob is in the middle. If merry Bob do come avore ye,

In happy times a while agoo, My lively hope, that’s now a-gone Did stir my heart the whole year drough, But mwost when green-bough’d spring come… When I did rove, wi’ litty veet,

WHEN high hot zuns da strik right down… An’ burn our zweaty fiazen brown, An’ zunny hangens that be nigh Be back’d by hills so blue’s the sky; Then while the bells da sweetly cheem

If mem’ry, when our hope’s a-gone, Could bring us dreams to cheat us on, Ov happiness our hearts voun’ true In years we come too quickly drough; What days should come to me, but you,

Jean ax’d what ribbon she should wear ‘Ithin her bonnet to the feaeir? She had woone white, a-gi’ed her when She stood at Meaery’s chrissenen; She had woone brown, she had woone red,

Zoo you be in your groun’ then, I do ze… A-worken and a-zingen lik’ a bee. How do it answer? what d’ye think about… D’ye think ’tis better wi’ it than witho… A-recknen rent, an’ time, an’ zeed to st…

Now, Fanny, ’tis too bad, you teazèn ma… How leäte you be a’ come! Where have ye… How long you have a-meäde me waït about! I thought you werden gwaïn to come ageän… I had a mind to goo back hwome ageän.

Now the sheaedes o’ the elems do stratch… Vrom the low-zinken zun in the west o’ t… An’ the maidens do stand out in clusters… The doors, vor to chatty an’ zee vo’k go… An’ their cwombs be a-zet in their bunch…

Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm, Wi’ tinklen bells an’ sheep-dog’s bark, An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eaerm, Here I do rove below the lark. An’ I do bide all day among

Woone’s heart mid leaep wi’ thoughts o’… In comen manhood light an’ gay When we do teaeke the worold on Vrom our vore-elders dead an’ gone; But days so feaeir in hope’s bright eyes

Ees, last Whit-Monday, I an’ Meaery Got up betimes to mind the deaeiry; An’ gi’ed the milken pails a scrub, An’ dress’d, an’ went to zee the club. Vor up at public-house, by ten

Sweet Woodley! oh! how fresh an’ gay Thy leaenes an’ vields be now in May, The while the broad-leav’d clotes do zwi… In brooks wi’ gil’cups at the brim; An’ yollow cowslip-beds do grow

When snow-white clouds wer thin an’ vew Avore the zummer sky o’ blue, An’ I’d noo ho but how to vind Zome play to entertain my mind; Along the water, as did wind

O when our zun’s a-zinken low, How soft’s the light his feaece do drow Upon the backward road our mind Do turn an’ zee a-left behind; When we, in childhood’s days did vind

When evenen is a-drawen in, I’ll steal vrom others’ naisy din; An’ where the whirlen brook do roll Below the walnut-tree, I’ll stroll An’ think o’ thee wi’ all my soul,

How happy uncle us’d to be O’ zummer time, when aunt an’ he O’ Zunday evenens, eaerm in eaerm, Did walk about their tiny farm, While birds did zing an’ gnats did zwarm…

In leaene the gipsies, as we went A-milken, had a-pitch’d their tent, Between the gravel-pit an’ clump O’ trees, upon the little hump: An’ while upon the grassy groun’

At last Jeaene come down stairs, a-dres… Wi’ wedden knots upon her breast, A-blushen, while a tear did lie Upon her burnen cheaek half dry; An’ then her Robert, drawen nigh

The brook I left below the rank Ov alders that do sheaede his bank, A-runnen down to dreve the mill Below the knap, 's a runnen still; The creepen days an’ weeks do vill

Vorgi’e me, Jenny, do! an’ rise Thy hangen head an’ teary eyes, An’ speak, vor I’ve a-took in lies, An’ I’ve a-done thee wrong; But I wer twold,—an’ thought 'twer true…

’Tis merry ov a zummer’s day, Where vo’k be out a-meaeken hay; Where men an’ women, in a string, Do ted or turn the grass, an’ zing, Wi’ cheemen vaices, merry zongs,

’Tis merry ov a zummer’s day, When vo’k be out a-haulen hay, Where boughs, a-spread upon the ground, Do meaeke the staddle big an’ round; An’ grass do stand in pook, or lie

That’s slowish work, Bob. What’st a-bee… Thy pooken don’t goo on not over sprack. Why I’ve a-pook’d my weaele, lo’k zee,… An’ here I be ageaen a-turnen back. I’ll work wi’ thee then, Sammy, any day…

When we in mornen had a-drow’d The grass or russlen hay abrode, The lit’some maidens an’ the chaps, Wi’ bits o’ nunchens in their laps, Did all zit down upon the knaps

His aunt an’ uncle,—ah! the kind Wold souls be often in my mind: A better couple never stood In shoes, an’ vew be voun’ so good. _She_ cheer’d the work-vo’k in their twe…

When sheaedes do vall into ev’ry hollow, An’ reach vrom trees half athirt the gro… An’ banks an’ walls be a-looken yollow, That be a-turn’d to the zun gwain down; Drough hay in cock, O,

The dreven scud that overcast The zummer sky is all a-past, An’ softer air, a-blowen drough The quiv’ren boughs, do sheaeke the vew Last rain drops off the leaves lik’ dew;

When vu’st along theaese road vrom mill, I zeed ye hwome all up the hill, The poplar tree, so straight an’ tall, Did rustle by the watervall; An’ in the leaeze the cows wer all

(Water-lily.) O zummer clote! when the brook’s a-glide… So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed, Upon thy broad leaves so seaefe a-riden The water’s top wi’ thy yollow head,

I got two vields, an’ I don’t ceaere What squire mid have a bigger sheaere. My little zummer-leaeze do stratch All down the hangen, to a patch O’ meaed between a hedge an’ rank

Ah! yesterday, d’ye know, I voun’ Tom Dumpy’s cwoat an’ smock-frock, down Below the pollard out in groun’; An’ zoo I slyly stole An’ took the smock-frock up, an’ tack’d

Sweet Be’mi’ster, that bist a-bound By green an’ woody hills all round, Wi’ hedges, reachen up between A thousan’ vields o’ zummer green, Where elems’ lofty heads do drow

As I wer out in meaed last week, A-thatchen o’ my little rick, There green young ee-grass, ankle-high, Did sheen below the cloudless sky; An’ over hedge in tother groun’,

Avore we went a-milken, vive Or six o’s here wer all alive A-teaeken bees that zwarm’d vrom hive; An’ we’d sich work to catch The hummen rogues, they led us sich

As I wer readen ov a stwone In Grenley church-yard all alwone, A little maid ran up, wi’ pride To zee me there, an’ push’d a-zide A bunch o’ bennets that did hide

Come out to the parrock, come out to the… The maidens an’ chaps be a-waiten vor th… There’s Jim wi’ his fiddle to play us s… Come out along wi’ us, an’ fling up thy… Come, all the long grass is a-mow’d an’…

There’s what the vo’k do call a veaeiry… Out there, lo’k zee. Why, ’tis an oddis… Ah! zoo do seem. I wunder how do come! What is it that do meaeke it, I do wond… Be hang’d if I can tell, I’m sure! But…

The windless copse ha’ sheaedy boughs, Wi’ blackbirds’ evenen whistles; The hills ha’ sheep upon their brows, The zummerleaeze ha’ thistles: The meaeds be gay in grassy May,

Ah! yesterday, you know, we carr’d The piece o’ corn in Zidelen Plot, An’ work’d about it pretty hard, An’ vound the weather pretty hot. ‘Twer all a-tied an’ zet upright

Since we wer striplens naighbour John, The good wold merry times be gone: But we do like to think upon What we’ve a-zeed an’ done. When I wer up a hardish lad,

Zoo after supper wer a-done, They clear’d the teaebles, an’ begun To have a little bit o’ fun, As long as they mid stop. The wold woones took their pipes to smok…

The ground is clear. There’s nar a ear O’ stannen corn a-left out now, Vor win’ to blow or rain to drow; ’Tis all up seaefe in barn or mow. Here’s health to them that plough’d an’…

Ah! Jimmy vow’d he’d have the law Ov ouer cousin Poll’s Jack-daw, That had by day his withy jail A-hangen up upon a nail, Ageaen the elem tree, avore

Upon theaese knap I’d sooner be The ivy that do climb the tree, Than bloom the gayest rwose a-tied An’ trimm’d upon the house’s zide. The rwose mid be the maidens’ pride,

When in the evenen the zun’s a-zinken, A drowen sheaedes vrom the yollow west, An’ mother, weary, 's a-zot a thinken, Wi’ vwolded eaerms by the vire at rest, Then we do zwarm, O,