The May-Tree

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I've a-come by the Maÿ-tree all times o' the year,
  When leaves wer a-springèn,
  When vrost wer a-stingèn,
  When cool-winded mornèn did show the hills clear,
  When night wer bedimmèn the vields vur an' near.

  When, in zummer, his head wer as white as a sheet,
  Wi' white buds a-zwellèn,
  An' blossom, sweet-smellèn,
  While leaves wi' green leaves on his bough-zides did meet,
  A-sheädèn the deäisies down under our veet.

  When the zun, in the Fall, wer a-wanderèn wan,
  An' haws on his head
  Did sprinkle en red,
  Or bright drops o' raïn wer a-hung loosely on,
  To the tips o' the sprigs when the scud wer a-gone.

  An' when, in the winter, the zun did goo low,
  An' keen win' did huffle,
  But never could ruffle
  The hard vrozen feäce o' the water below,
  His limbs wer a-fringed wi' the vrost or the snow.

© William Barnes