Rong by rong, to clim' the tall
Trees, be hung upon the wall.
The crumpled leaves be now a-shed
In mornèn winds a-blowèn keen;
When they wer green the moss wer dead,
Now they be dead the moss is green.
Low the evenèn zun do sheen
By the boughs,
Where the cows do swing their taïls
Over the merry milkers' païls.