To years a-spent, an' bring to mind
Zome happy tide a-left behind
In' weästèn life's slow-beatèn track.
When feädèn leaves do drip wi' raïn,
Our thoughts can ramble in the dry;
When Winter win' do zweep the plaïn
We still can have a zunny sky.
Vor though our limbs be winter-wrung,
We still can zee, wi' Fancy's eyes,
The brightest looks ov e'th an' skies,