UPON the hedge theäse bank did bear, this

Wi’ lwonesome thought untwold in words,

I woonce did work, wi’ noo sound there once

But my own strokes, an’ chirpèn birds;

As down the west the zun went wan,

An’ days brought on our Zunday's rest,

When sounds o’ cheemèn bells did vill chiming

The aïr, an’ hook an’ axe wer still.

Along the wold town-path vo'k went, old, folk

An’ met unknown, or friend wi’ friend,

The maïd her busy mother zent, daughter

The mother wi’ noo maïd to zend;

An’ in the light the gleäzier's glass,

As he did pass, wer dazzlèn bright,

Or woone went by wi’ down-cast head, one

A-wrapp'd in blackness vor the dead.

An’ then the bank, wi’ risèn back,

That's now a-most a-troddèn down,

Bore thorns wi’ rind o’ sheeny black, bark, shiny

An’ meäple stems o’ ribby brown;

An’ in the lewth o’ theäse tree heads, shelter, these

Wer primrwose beds a-sprung in blooth, bloom

An’ here a geäte, a-slammèn to,

Did let the slow-wheel'd plough roll drough. wagon, through

Ov all that then went by, but vew

Be now a-left behine’, to beät

The mornèn flow'rs or evenèn dew,

Or slam the woakèn vive-bar'd geäte; made of oak

But woone, my wife, so litty-stepp'd, light-

That have a-kept my path o’ life,

Wi’ her vew errands on the road,

Where woonce she bore her mother's lwoad. once