Do hang in leaf, an' win'-blow'd flow'rs,
Avore my lwonesome eyes do show
Theäse bright November hours.
Avore my lwonesome eyes do show
Wi' nwone but I to zee em blow.
The sheädes o' leafy buds, avore
The peänes, do sheäke upon the glass,
An' stir in light upon the vloor,
Where now vew veet do pass,
An' stir in light upon the vloor,