Do change wi' months a-stealèn round,
When northern winds, by starry night,
Do stop in ice the river's flight;
Or brooks in winter raïns do zwell,
Lik' rollèn seas athirt the dell;
Or trickle thin in zummer-tide;
Among the mossy stwones half dried;
But still, below the zun or moon,
The feàrest vield's the meäd in June.
An' I must own, my heart do beät