Robert Burns (Роберт Бернс)

* * *

O WERE my love yon lilac fair,
  Wi’ purple blossoms to the spring;
And I, a bird to shelter there,
  When wearied on my little wing;

How I wad mourn, when it was torn
  By autumn wild, and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
  When youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d.

o gin my love were yon red rose
  That grows upon the castle wa’,
And I mysel’ a drap o’ dew,
  Into her bonnie breast to fa’!

Oh, there beyond expression blest,
  I’d feast on beauty a’ the night;
Seal’d on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
  Till fley’d awa’ by Phoebus’ light.

1. The Rantin’ Dog the Daddie O’t
2. Could Aught of Song
3. Nithsdale’s Welcome Hame
4. Behold the Hour
5. Mark Yonder Pomp

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