To come back here; or there can be
An e'thly pleäce to meäke em come
To zee it vrom a better hwome,—
Then what's a-twold us mid be right,
That still, at dead o' tongueless night,
Their gauzy sheäpes do come an' glide
By vootways o' their youthvul pride.
An' while the trees do stan' that grow'd
Vor them, or walls or steps they know'd
Do bide in pleäce, they'll always come