Where trees do swaÿ an' brooks do run,
By risèn moon or zettèn zun.
Vor when at evenèn I do look
All down theäse hangèn on the brook,
Wi' weäves a-leäpèn clear an' bright,
Where boughs do swaÿ in yollow light;
Noo hills nor hollows, woods nor streams,
A-voun' by daÿ or zeed in dreams,
Can ever seem so fit to be
Good angel's hwomes, though they do gi'e