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When sycamore leaves wer a-spreadèn
Green-ruddy in hedges, Bezide the red doust o' the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill; I packed up my goods all a sheenèn Wi' long years o' handlèn, On dousty red wheel ov a waggon, To ride at Woak Hill. The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellèn, I then wer a-le{"a}vèn, Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Me{"a}ry, My bride at Woak Hill. But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall 'S a-lost vrom the vloorèn. Too soon vor my ja{"y} an' my childern, She died at Woak Hill. But still I do think that, in soul, She do hover about us; To ho vor her motherless childern, Her pride at Woak Hill. Zoo--lest she should tell me hereafter I stole off 'ithout her, An' left her, uncall'd at house-riddèn, To bide at Woak Hill-- I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippèns All soundless to others, An' took her wi' a{"i}r-reachèn hand, To my zide at Woak Hill. On the road I did look round, a-talkèn To light at my shoulder, An' then led her in at the doorway, Miles wide vrom Woak Hill. An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, My mind wer a-wandrèn Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely A-tried at Woak Hill. But no; that my Me{"a}ry mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill. Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |