When Sycamore Leaves Wer A-Spreaden Green-Ruddy In Hedges, Bezide The Red Doust O' The Ridges, A-Dried At Woak Hill; I Packed Up My Goods, All A-Sheenen Wi' Long Years O' Handlen, On Dousty Red Wheels Ov A Waggon, To Ride At Woak Hill. The Brown Thatchen Ruf O' The Dwellen I Then Wer A-Leaven, Had Sheltered The Sleek Head O' Meary, My Bride At Woak Hill. But Now Vor Zome Years, Her Light Voot-Vall 'S A-Lost Vrom The Vlooren. To Soon Vor My Jay An' My Childern She Died At Woak Hill. But Still I Do Think That, In Soul, She Do Hover About Us; To Ho Vor Her Motherless Childern, Her Pride At Woak Hill. Zoo -Lest She Should Tell Me Hereafter I Stole Off 'Ithout Her, An' Left Her, Uncalled At House-Ridden, To Bide At Woak Hill - I Called Her So Fondly, Wi' Lippens All Soundless To Others, An' Took Her Wi' Air-Reachen Hand To My Zide At Woak Hill. On The Road I Did Look Round, A-Talken To Light At My Shoulder, An' Then Led Her In At The Doorway, Miles Wide Vrom Woak Hill. An' That's Why Vo'K Thought, Vor A Season, My Mind Wer A-Wandren Wi' Sorrow, When I Wer So Sorely A-Tried At Woak Hill. But No; That My Meary Mid Never Behold Herzelf Slighted, I Wanted To Think That I Guided My Guide Vrom Woak Hill.