A little maïd o' marble stwone
Do leän her little cheäk azide
Upon her lily han', an' bide
Bezide the vallèn stream to zee
Her pitcher vill'd avore her knee.
An' then the brook, a-rollèn dark
Below a leänèn yew-tree's bark,
Wi' plaÿsome ripples that do run
A-flashèn to the western zun,
Do shoot, at last, wi' foamy shocks,