For when thy grey-blue head do sway
In cloudless light, 'tis Spring, 'tis May.

'Tis Spring, 'tis May, as May woonce shed
His glowen light above thy head--
When thy green boughs, wi' bloomy tips,
Did sheaede my childern's laughen lips;
A-screenen vrom the noonday gleaere
Their rwosy cheaeks an' glossy heaeir;
The while their mother's needle sped,
Too quick vor zight, the snow-white thread,
Unless her han', wi' loven ceaere,
Did smooth their little heads o' heaeir;

Or wi' a sheaeke, tie up anew
Vor zome wild voot, a slippen shoe;
An' I did leaen bezide thy mound
Ageaen the deaesy-dappled ground,
The while the woaken clock did tick
My hour o' rest away too quick,
An' call me off to work anew,
Wi' slowly-ringen strokes, woone, two.

Zoo let me zee noo darksome cloud
Bedim to-day thy flow'ry sh'oud,
But let en bloom on ev'ry spray,
Drough all the days o' zunny May.

THE BLACKBIRD.

'Twer out at Penley I'd a-past
A zummer day that went too vast,
An' when the zetten zun did spread
On western clouds a vi'ry red;
The elems' leafy limbs wer still
Above the gravel-bedded rill,
An' under en did warble sh'ill,
Avore the dusk, the blackbird.

An' there, in sheaedes o' darksome yews,
Did vlee the maidens on their tooes,
A-laughen sh'ill wi' merry feaece
When we did vind their hiden pleaece.
'Ithin the loose-bough'd ivys gloom,
Or lofty lilac, vull in bloom,
Or hazzle-wrides that gi'ed em room
Below the zingen blackbird.

Above our heads the rooks did vlee
To reach their nested elem-tree,
An' splashen vish did rise to catch
The wheelen gnots above the hatch;
An' there the miller went along,
A-smilen, up the sheaedy drong,
But yeet too deaf to hear the zong
A-zung us by the blackbird.

An' there the sh'illy-bubblen brook
Did leaeve behind his rocky nook,
To run drough meaeds a-chill'd wi' dew,
Vrom hour to hour the whole night drough;
But still his murmurs wer a-drown'd
By vaices that mid never sound
Ageaen together on that ground,
Wi' whislens o' the blackbird.

THE SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL.

Ah! Jeaene, my maid, I stood to you,
When you wer christen'd, small an' light,
Wi' tiny eaerms o' red an' blue,
A-hangen in your robe o' white.
We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone,
Vor Christ to teaeke ye vor his own,
When harvest work wer all a-done,
An' time brough