An' still the pulley rwope do heist
The wheat vrom red-wheeled waggon beds.
An' ho'ses there wi' lwoads of grist,
Do stand an' toss their heavy heads;
But on the vloor,
Or at the door,
Do show noo mwore the kindly feäce
Her father show'd about the pleäce,
As clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour,
Wi' whirlèn stwone, an' streamèn flour,