An' ripen on, an' vall in turn;
The miller's moss-green wheel mid rot,
An' he mid die an' be vorgot,
But rivers don't gi'e out, John.
A vew short years do bring an' rear
A maïd—as Jeäne wer—young an' feäir,
An' vewer zummer-ribbons, tied
In Zunday knots, do feäde bezide
Her cheäk avore her bloom ha' died:
Her youth won't staÿ,—her rwosy look