Wayfearen

The sky wer clear, the zunsheen glow'dOn droopen flowers drough the day,As I did beaet the dousty roadVrom hinder hills, a-feaeden gray;Drough hollows up the hills,Vrom knaps along by mills,Vrom mills by churches tow'rs, wi' bellsThat twold the hours to woody dells.

An' when the winden road do guideThe thirsty vootman where mid flowThe water vrom a rock bezideHis vootsteps, in a sheenen bow;The hand a-hollow'd upDo beaet a goolden cup,To catch an' drink it, bright an' cool,A-vallen light 'ithin the pool.

Zoo when, at last, I hung my headWi' thirsty lips a-burnen dry,I come bezide a river-bedWhere water flow'd so blue's the sky;An' there I meaede me upO' coltsvoot leaf a cup,Where water vrom his lip o' gray,Wer sweet to sip thik burnen day.

But when our work is right, a jayDo come to bless us in its train,An' hardships ha' zome good to payThe thoughtvul soul vor all their paein:The het do sweeten sheaede,An' weary lim's ha' meaedeA bed o' slumber, still an' sound,By woody hill or grassy mound.

An' while I zot in sweet delayBelow an elem on a hill,Where boughs a-halfway up did swayIn sheaedes o' lim's above em still,An' blue sky show'd betweenThe flutt'ren leaeves o' green;I woulden gi'e that gloom an' sheaedeVor any room that weaelth ha' meaede.

But oh! that vo'k that have the roadsWhere weary-vooted souls do pass,Would leaeve bezide the stwone vor lwoads,A little strip vor zummer grass;That when the stwones do bruiseAn' burn an' gall our tooes,We then mid cool our veet on bedsO' wild-thyme sweet, or deaeisy-heads.