Or if you'd look, wi' wider scope,
Out where the gray-tree'd plaïn do spread,
The ash bezide the zunny slope,
Do sheäde a cool-aïr'd deäisy bed,
An' grassy seat, wi' spreadèn eaves
O' rus'lèn leaves, above your head.
An' there the traïn mid come in zight,
Too vur to hear a-rollèn by,
A-breathèn quick, in heästy flight,
His breath o' tweil, avore the sky,