WHEN zummer's burnèn het's a-shed heat's

Upon the droopèn grasses head,

A-drevèn under sheädy leaves driving

The workvo'k in their snow-white sleeves, workfolk

We then mid yearn to clim’ the height, may

Where thorns be white, above the vern; fern

An’ aïr do turn the zunsheen's might sunshine's

To softer light too weak to burn—

On woodless downs we mid be free,

But lowland trees be company.

Though downs mid show a wider view

O’ green a-reachèn into blue

Than roads a-windèn in the glen,

An’ ringèn wi’ the sounds o’ men;

The thissle's crown o’ red an’ blue

In Fall's cwold dew do wither brown,

An’ larks come down 'ithin the lew, shelter

As storms do brew, an’ skies do frown—

An’ though the down do let us free,

The lowland trees be company.

Where birds do zing, below the zun,

In trees above the blue-smok'd tun, chimney-top

An’ sheädes o’ stems do overstratch shadows, tree-trunks

The mossy path 'ithin the hatch; wicket-gate

If leaves be bright up over head,

When Maÿ do shed its glitt'rèn light;

Or, in the blight o’ Fall, do spread

A yollow bed avore our zight—

Whatever season it mid be, may

The trees be always company.

When dusky night do nearly hide

The path along the hedge's zide,

An’ dailight's hwomely sounds be still

But sounds o’ water at the mill; except for

Then if noo feäce we long'd to greet

Could come to meet our lwonesome treäce

Or if noo peäce o’ weary veet, pace

However fleet, could reach its pleäce—

However lwonesome we mid be, might

The trees would still be company.