Come let’s goo down the grove to-night;
The moon is up, ’tis all so light
As day, an’ win’ do blow enough
To sheäke the leaves, but tiddèn rough.
Come, Esther, teäke, vor wold time’s seäke,
Your hooded cloke, that’s on the pin,
An’ wrap up warm, an’ teäke my eärm,
You’ll vind it better out than in.
Come, Etty dear; come out o’ door,
An’ teäke a sweetheart’s walk woonce mwore.
How charmèn to our very souls,
Wer woonce your evenèn maïden strolls,
The while the zettèn zunlight dyed
Wi’ red the beeches’ western zide,
But back avore your vinger wore
The weddèn ring that’s now so thin;
An’ you did sheäre a mother’s ceäre,
To watch an’ call ye eärly in.
Come, Etty dear; come out o’ door,
An’ teäke a sweetheart’s walk woonce mwore.
An’ then ageän, when you could slight
The clock a-strikèn leäte at night,
The while the moon, wi’ risèn rim,
Did light the beeches’ eastern lim’.
When I’d a-bound your vinger round
Wi’ thik goold ring that’s now so thin,
An’ you had nwone but me alwone
To teäke ye leäte or eärly in.
Come, Etty dear; come out o’ door,
An’ teäke a sweetheart’s walk woonce mwore.
But often when the western zide
O’ trees did glow at evenèn-tide,
Or when the leäter moon did light
The beeches’ eastern boughs at night,
An’ in the grove, where vo’k did rove
The crumpled leaves did vlee an’ spin,
You couldèn sheäre the pleasure there:
Your work or childern kept ye in.
Come, Etty dear, come out o’ door,
An’ teäke a sweetheart’s walk woonce mwore.
But ceäres that zunk your oval chin
Ageän your bosom’s lily skin,
Vor all they meäde our life so black,
Be now a-lost behind our back.
Zoo never mwope, in midst of hope,
To slight our blessèns would be sin.
Ha! ha! well done, now this is fun;
When you do like I’ll bring ye in.
Here, Etty dear; here, out o’ door,
We’ll teäke a sweetheart’s walk woonce mwore.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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