A-glisnèn to the moon.
Think how her father zot all dum',
A-thinkèn on her, back at hwome,
The while grey axan gather'd thick,
On dyèn embers, on the brick;
An' how her mother look'd abrode,
Drough window, down the moon-bright road,
Thik cloudless night o' June,
Wi' tears upon her lashes big
As raïn-drops on a slender twig,