An' when, wi' wint'r a-comèn roun', The purple he'th's a-feädèn brown, An' hangèn vern's a-sheäkèn dead, Bezide the hill's besheäded head: An' black-wing'd rooks do glitter bright Above my head, in peäler light; Then though the birds do still the glee That sounded in the zummer tree, My heart is light the winter drough, In me'th at night, wi'--I know who.
Above the timber's bendèn sh'ouds, The western wind did softly blow; An' up avore the knap, the clouds Did ride as white as driven snow. Vrom west to east the clouds did zwim Wi' wind that plied the elem's lim'; Vrom west to east the stream did glide, A-sheenèn wide, wi' windèn brim.
How feäir, I thought, avore the sky The slowly-zwimmèn clouds do look; How soft the win's a-streamèn by; How bright do roll the weävy brook: When there, a-passèn on my right, A-waikèn slow, an' treadèn light, Young Jessie Lee come by, an' there Took all my ceäre, an' all my zight.
Vor lovely wer the looks her feäce Held up avore the western sky: An' comely wer the steps her peäce Did meäke a-walkèn slowly by: But I went east, wi' beätèn breast, Wi' wind, an' cloud, an' brook, vor rest, Wi' rest a-lost, vor Jessie gone So lovely on, toward the west.
Blow on, O winds, athirt the hill; Zwim on, O clouds; O waters vall, Down mæshy rocks, vrom mill to mill; I now can overlook ye all. But roll, O zun, an' bring to me My day, if such a day there be, When zome dear path to my abode Shall be the road o' Jessie Lee.
As evenèn aïr, in green-treed Spring, Do sheäke the new-sprung pa'sley bed, An' wither'd ash-tree keys do swing An' vall a-flutt'rèn roun' our head: There, while the birds do zing their zong In bushes down the ash-tree drong, Come Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleäce Your vaïce an' feäce can meäke vor me.
Below the buddèn ashes' height We there can linger in the lew, While boughs, a-gilded by the light, Do sheen avore the sky o' blue: But there by zettèn zun, or moon A-risèn, time wull vlee too soon Wi' Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleäce Her vaïce an' feäce can meäke vor me.
Down where the darksome brook do flow, Below the bridge's archèd wall, Wi' alders dark, a-leanèn low, Above the gloomy watervall; There I've a-led ye hwome at night, Wi' noo feäce else 'ithin my zight But yours so feäir, an' sweet's the pleäce Your vaïce an' feäce ha' meäde me there.