AH! how the looks o’ sky an’ ground

Do change wi’ months a-stealèn round,

When northern winds, by starry night,

Do stop in ice the river's flight;

Or brooks in winter raïns do zwell,

Lik’ rollèn seas athirt the dell; across

Or trickle thin in zummer-tide,

Among the mossy stwones half dried;

But still, below the zun or moon,

The feärest vield's the meäd in June.

An’ I must own, my heart do beät

Wi’ pride avore my own blue geäte,

Where I can bid the steätely tree

Be cast, at langth, avore my knee;

An’ clover red, an’ deäzies feäir,

An’ gil'cups wi’ their yollow gleäre, buttercups

Be all a-match'd avore my zight

By wheelèn buttervlees in flight, butterflies

The while the burnèn zun at noon

Do sheen upon my meäd in June. shine

An’ there do zing the swingèn lark

So gaÿ's above the finest park,

An’ day do sheäde my trees as true

As any steätely avenue;

An’ show'ry clouds o’ Spring do pass

To shed their raïn on my young grass,

An’ aïr do blow the whole day long,

To bring me breath, an’ teäke my zong,

An’ I do miss noo needvul boon

A-gi'ed to other meäds in June. Given

An’ when the bloomèn rwose do ride

Upon the boughy hedge's zide,

We haymeäkers, in snow-white sleeves,

Do work in sheädes o’ quiv'rèn leaves, shadows

In afternoon, a-liftèn high

Our reäkes avore the viery sky, fiery

A-reäken up the haÿ a-dried

By day, in lwongsome weäles, to bide ridges

In chilly dew below the moon,

O’ shorten'd nights in zultry June.

An’ there the brook do softly flow

Along, a-bendèn in a bow, curve

An’ vish, wi’ zides o’ zilver-white,

Do flash vrom shoals a dazzlèn light;

An’ alders by the water's edge,

Do sheäde the ribbon-bleäded zedge,

An’ where, below the withy's head, willow's

The zwimmèn clote-leaves be a-spread, yellow water-lily

The angler is a-zot at noon seated

Upon the flow'ry bank in June.