Summer: The Clote
(Water-lily.)
O zummer clote! when the brook’s a-gliden
So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed,
Upon thy broad leaves so seaefe a-riden
The water’s top wi’ thy yollow head,
By alder’s heads, O,
An’ bulrush beds, O.
Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!
The grey-bough’d withy’s a-leaenen lowly
Above the water thy leaves do hide;
The benden bulrush, a-swayen slowly,
Do skirt in zummer thy river’s zide;
An’ perch in shoals, O,
Do vill the holes, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!
Oh! when thy brook-drinken flow’r’s a-blowen,
The burnen zummer’s a-zetten in;
The time o’ greenness, the time o’ mowen,
When in the hay-vield, wi’ zunburnt skin,
The vo’k do drink, O,
Upon the brink, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!
Wi’ eaerms a-spreaden, an’ cheaeks a-blowen,
How proud wer I when I vu’st could zwim
Athirt the pleaece where thou bist a-growen,
Wi’ thy long more vrom the bottom dim;
While cows, knee-high, O,
In brook, wer nigh, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!
Ov all the brooks drough the meaeds a-winden,
Ov all the meaeds by a river’s brim,
There’s nwone so feaeir o’ my own heart’s vinden,
As where the maidens do zee thee swim,
An’ stan’ to teaeke, O,
Wi’ long-stemm’d reaeke, O,
Thy flow’r afloat, goolden zummer clote!
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