THE copse ha' got his shiady boughs, Wi' blackbirds' evemen whissles; The hills ha' sheep upon ther brows, The zummerleäze ha' thissles. The meads be gay in grassy May, But O vrom hill to holler, Let I look down upon a groun' O' carn a-turnen yoller. An' pease da grow in tangled beds, An' beäns be sweet to snuff, O; The tiaper woats da bend ther heads, The barley's beard is rough, O; The turnip green is fresh between The carn in hill ar holler, But I'd look down upon the groun' O' wheat a-turnen yoller. 'Tis merry when the brawny men Da come to reap it down, O, Wher glossy red the poppy head 'S among the sta'ks so brown, O; 'Tis merry while the wheat's in hile Ar when, by hill ar holler, The leäzers thick da stoop to pick The ears so ripe ar yoller. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSE OF DREAMS by SARA TEASDALE MORAL ESSAYS: EPISTLE 4. TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL BURLINGTON by ALEXANDER POPE THE THREAD OF LIFE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE WASTE PLACES by JAMES STEPHENS THE COWBOY'S DANCE SONG by JAMES BARTON ADAMS |