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!