Our windows wi' their rwosy light,
An' high-zunn'd noons mid dry the dew
On growèn groun' below our shoe;
The blushèn evenèn still mid dye,
Wi' viry red, the western sky;
The zunny spring-time's quicknèn power
Mid come to oben leaf an' flower;
An' days an' tides mid bring us on
Woone pleasure when another's gone.
But we must bid a long farewell