Haste not thine wisdom, for the hollow is ta’en —
By whom, know I not; ‘lack! am I of twain —
And as a crux — cede I my words —
Fro my heart wilt thou ne’er
Have I been ‘sooth sinsyne.
Be left without — come!
Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine,
Ryking for me:
Ryking for thee;
«List and heed», thou say’st
Wistful, whistful —
Chancing to lure.
Chancing to lure,
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown ’tis —
Dodge na ‘way herefro, do come here in eath!
Mayhap lured by the scent of lote —
‘Od! — the foetid — eft hie back I mote;
For what I did my soul atrounced,
How I wish for thee again,
O! do believe me, ’twasn’t a frounce.
Will I give thee it: Troth.
Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine,
Ryking for me:
Ryking for thee;
«List and heed», thou say’st
Wistful, whistful —
Chancing to lure.
Chancing to lure,
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown ’tis —
Dodge na ‘way herefro, do come here in eath!