Woone Smile Mwore

O! MARY, when the zun went down, 
  Woone night in spring, w’ viry rim, 
Behind the nap wi’ woody crown, 
  An’ left your smilen face so dim; 
Your little sister there, inside,
  Wi’ bellows on her little knee, 
Did blow the vire, a-glearen wide 
  Drough window-panes, that I could zee,— 
As you did stan’ wi’ me, avore 
  The house, a-parten,—woone smile mwore.
 
The chatt’ren birds, a-risen high, 
  An’ zinken low, did swiftly vlee 
Vrom shrinken moss, a-growen dry, 
  Upon the lanen apple tree. 
An’ there the dog, a-whippen wide
  His hairy tail, an’ comen near, 
Did fondly lay agan you zide 
  His coal-black nose an’ russet ear: 
To win what I ’d a-won avore, 
  Vrom your gay; face, his woone smile mwore.

An’ while your mother bustled sprack, 
  A-getten supper out in hall, 
An’ cast her shade, a-whiv’ren black 
  Avore the vire, upon the wall; 
Your brother come, wi’ easy pace, 
  In drough the slammen gate, along 
The path, wi’ healthy-bloomen face, 
  A-whis’len shrill his last new zong: 
An’ when he come avore the door, 
  He met vrom you his woone smile mwore. 
 
Now you that wer the daughter there, 
  Be mother on a husband’s vloor, 
An’ mid ye meet wi’ less o’ care 
  Than what your harty mother bore; 
An’ if abroad I have to rue 
  The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed, 
Mid I come hwome to share wi’ you 
  What ’s needvul free o’ pinchen need: 
An’ vind that you ha’ still in store 
  My evenen meal, an’ woone smile mwore.