The Poetical Works and Letters of Robert Burns

The Lily it is pure, and the Lily it is fair,

And in her lovely bosom I'll place the Lily there;
The Daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air-

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The Hawthorn I will pu' wi' its locks o' siller gray,
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break of day;
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away-
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The Woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near,
And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her e'en sae clear;
The Violet's for modesty, which weel shefa's to wear—
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve,

silve?

will not

eyes s

well, falk

And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above,
Toat to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remove-
And this shall be a posie to my ain dear May.

She has an ee-she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller:
A whiskin' beard about her mou',
Her nose and chin they threaten ither-
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.
She's bough-houghed, she's hein-shinned,
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter:
She has a hump upon her breast,

The twin o' that upon her shouther--
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.

Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,

And wi' her loof her face a-washin'; But Willie's wife is na sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water-Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

TUNE-The Yellow-haired Laddie.

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds through the glen
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.

green fields

birch

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

THE SMILING SPRING.

TUNE-The Bonny Bell.

THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,
And surly Winter grimly flies;

Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies.

Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,
The evening gilds the ocean's swell;
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer,
And yellow Autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter,
Till smiling Spring again appear.
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,
But never ranging, still unchanging,
I adore my bonnie Bell.