There yonder poplar trees do plaÿ
Soft music, as their heads do swaÿ,
While wind, a-rustlèn soft or loud,
Do stream ageän their lofty sh'oud;
An' seem to heal the ranklèn zore
My mind do meet wi' out o' door,
When I've a-bore, in downcast mood,
Zome evil where I look'd vor good.
O' they two poplars that do rise
So high avore our naïghbours' eyes,