I'M out, when, in the Winter's blast,

The zun, a-runnèn lowly round,

Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast shadows

At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground.

I'm out when snow's a-lyèn white

In keen-aïr'd vields that I do pass,

An’ moonbeams, vrom above, do smite

On ice an’ sleeper's window-glass.

I'm out o’ door,

When win’ do zweep,

By hangèn steep, slope

Or hollow deep,

At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound shelter

By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank,

Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown'd

By barken-grass, a-springèn rank; farmyard-

Or where the waggon, vrom the team

A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet,

An’ on the dousty cart-house beam dusty

Do hang the cobweb's white-lin'd net.

While storms do roar,

An’ win’ do zweep,

By hangèn steep,

Or hollow deep,

At Lindenore.

An’ when a good day's work 's a-done

An’ I do rest, the while a squall

Do rumble in the hollow tun, chimney

An’ ivy-stems do whip the wall,

Then in the house do sound about

My ears, dear vaïces vull or thin,

A praÿèn vor the souls vur out far

At sea, an’ cry wi’ bibb'rèn chin— shaking with cold

Oh! shut the door.

What soul can sleep,

Upon the deep,

When storms do zweep

At Lindenore.