The Girt Wold House o' Mossy Stwone

The girt wold house o' mossy stwone,Up there upon the knap alwone,Had woonce a bleaezen kitchen-vier,That cook'd vor poor-vo'k an' a squier.The very last ov all the reaeceThat liv'd the squier o' the pleaece,Died off when father wer a-born,An' now his kin be all vorlornVor ever,--vor he left noo sonTo teaeke the house o' mossy stwone.An' zoo he vell to other hands,An' gramfer took en wi' the lands:An' there when he, poor man, wer dead,My father shelter'd my young head.An' if I wer a squier, IShould like to spend my life, an' dieIn thik wold house o' mossy stwone,Up there upon the knap alwone.

Don't talk ov housen all o' brick,Wi' rocken walls nine inches thick,A-trigg'd together zide by zideIn streets, wi' fronts a straddle wide,Wi' yards a-sprinkled wi' a mop,Too little vor a vrog to hop;But let me live an' die where ICan zee the ground, an' trees, an' sky.The girt wold house o' mossy stwoneHad wings vor either sheaede or zun:Woone where the zun did glitter drough,When vu'st he struck the mornen dew;Woone feaeced the evenen sky, an' woonePush'd out a pworch to zweaty noon:Zoo woone stood out to break the storm,An' meaede another lew an' warm.An' there the timber'd copse rose high,Where birds did build an' heaeres did lie,An' beds o' graegles in the lew,Did deck in May the ground wi' blue.An' there wer hills an' slopen grounds,That they did ride about wi' hounds;An' drough the meaed did creep the brookWi' bushy bank an' rushy nook,Where perch did lie in sheaedy holesBelow the alder trees, an' shoalsO' gudgeon darted by, to hideTheirzelves in hollows by the zide.An' there by leaenes a-winden deep,Wer mossy banks a-risen steep;An' stwonen steps, so smooth an' wide,To stiles an' vootpaths at the zide.An' there, so big's a little ground,The geaerden wer a-wall'd all round:An' up upon the wall wer barsA-sheaeped all out in wheels an' stars,Vor vo'k to walk, an' look out droughVrom trees o' green to hills o' blue.An' there wer walks o' peaevement, broadEnough to meaeke a carriage-road,Where steaetely leaedies woonce did useTo walk wi' hoops an' high-heel shoes,When yonder hollow woak wer sound,Avore the walls wer ivy-bound,Avore the elems met aboveThe road between em, where they droveTheir coach all up or down the roadA-comen hwome or gwain abroad.The zummer air o' theaese green hill'V a-heav'd in bosoms now all still,An' all their hopes an' all their tearsBe unknown things ov other years.But if, in heaven, souls be freeTo come back here; or there can beAn e'thly pleaece to meaeke em comeTo zee it vrom a better hwome,--Then what's a-twold us mid be right,That still, at dead o' tongueless night,Their gauzy sheaepes do come an' glideBy vootways o' their youthvul pride.

An' while the trees do stan' that grow'dVor them, or walls or steps they know'dDo bide in pleaece, they'll always comeTo look upon their e'thly hwome.Zoo I would always let alwoneThe girt wold house o' mossy stwone:I woulden pull a wing o'n down,To meaeke ther speechless sheaedes to frown;Vor when our souls, mid woonce becomeLik' their's, all bodiless an' dumb,How good to think that we mid vindZome thought vrom them we left behind,An' that zome love mid still uniteThe hearts o' blood wi' souls o' light.Zoo, if 'twer mine, I'd let alwoneThe girt wold house o' mossy stwone.