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.