The Clote


O zummer clote! when the brook's a-glidčn
So slow an' smooth down his zedgy bed,
Upon thy broad leaves so seäfe a-ridčn
The water's top wi' thy yollow head,
By alder sheädes, O,
An' bulrush beds, O,
Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!

The grey-bough'd withy's a-leänen lowly
Above the water thy leaves do hide;
The bčnden bulrush, a-swa˙čn slowly,
Do skirt in zummer thy river's zide;
An' perch in shoals, O,
Do vill the holes, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Oh! when thy brook-drinkčn flow'r's a-blowčn,
The burnčn zummer's a-zettčn in;
The time o' greeness, the time o' mowčn,
When in the ha˙-veld, wi' zunburnt skin,
The vo'k do drink, O,
Upon the brink, O,
Where thou doest float, goolden zummer clote!

Wi' eärms a-spreadčn, an' cheäks a-blowčn,
How proud wer I when I vu'st could zwim
Athirt the deep pleäce where thou bist growčn,
Wi' thy long more vrom the bottom dim;
While cows knee-high, O,
In brook, wer nigh, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Ov all the brooks drough the meäds a-windčn,
Ov all the meäds by a river's brim,
There's nwone so feäir o' my own heart's vindčn
As where the maīdens do zee thee zwim,
An' stan' to teäke, O,
Wi' long-stemm'd reäke, O,
Thy flow'r afloat, goolden zummer clote!

--by William Barnes, 1801-1886

Page by Arne Herstad