In zummer, leäte at evenèn tide, I zot to spend a moonless hour 'Ithin the window, wi' the zide A-bound wi' rwoses out in flow'r, Bezide the bow'r, vorsook o' birds, An' listen'd to my true-love's words. A-risèn to her comely height, She push'd the swingèn ceäsement round; And I could hear, beyond my zight, The win'-blow'd beech-tree softly sound, On higher ground, a-swäyèn slow, On drough my happy hour below. An' tho' the darkness then did hide The dewy rwose's blushèn bloom, He still did cast sweet aïr inside To Jeäne, a-chattèn in the room; An' though the gloom did hide her feäce, Her words did bind me to the pleäce. An' there, while she, wi' runnèn tongue, Did talk unzeen 'ithin the hall, I thought her like the rwose that flung His sweetness vrom his darken'd ball, 'Ithout the wall, an' sweet's the zight Ov her bright feäce by mornèn light. |