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* * * O WHA is she that lo’es me, And has my heart a-keeping? O sweet is she that lo’es me, As dews o’ simmer weeping, In tears the rose-buds steeping. O that’s the lassie o’ my heart, My lassie ever dearer; O that’s the queen o’ womankind. And ne’er a ane to peer her. If thou shalt meet a lassie, In grace and beauty charming, That e’en thy chosen lassie, Erewhile thy breast sae warming, Had ne’er sic powers alarming; If thou hadat heard her talking And thy attentions plighted, That ilka body talking, But her by thee is slighted, And thou art all delighted; If thou hast met this fair one; When frae her thou hast parted, If every other fair one, But her, thou hast deserted, And thou art broken-hearted; O that’s the lassie, &c. Robert Burns's other poems:
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