IN zummer, leäte at evenèn tide,

I zot to spend a moonless hour sat

‘Ithin the window, wi’ the zide

A-bound wi’ rwoses out in flow'r,

Bezide the bow'r, vorsook o’ birds,

An’ listen'd to my true-love's words.

A-risèn to her comely height,

She push'd the swingèn ceäsement round;

And I could hear, beyond my zight,

The win’-blow'd beech-tree softly sound,

On higher ground, a-swaÿèn slow,

On drough my happy hour below. through

An’ tho’ the darkness then did hide

The dewy rwose's blushèn bloom,

He still did cast sweet aïr inside it

To Jeäne, a-chattèn in the room;

An’ though the gloom did hide her feäce,

Her words did bind me to the pleäce.

An’ there, while she, wi’ runnèn tongue,

Did talk unzeen ‘ithin the hall,

I thought her like the rwose that flung

His sweetness vrom his darken'd ball,

‘Ithout the wall, an’ sweet's the zight

Ov her bright feäce by mornèn light.