Роберт Бернс (Robert Burns)

My Chloris

MY Chloris, mark how green the groves,
  The primrose banks how fair:
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
  And wave thy flaxen hair.

The lav’rock shuns the palace gay,
  And o’er the cottage sings:
For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
  To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu’ string
  In lordly lighted ha’:
The shepherd stops his simple reed,
  Blythe, in the birken shaw.

The princely revel may survey
  Our, rustic dance wi’ acorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours
  Beneath the milk-white thorn?

The shepherd, in the flowery glen,
  In shepherd’s phrase will woo:
The courtier tells a finer tale,
  But is his heart as true?

These wild-wood flowers I’ve pu’d, to deck
  That spotless breast o’ thine:
The courtier’s gems may witness love-
  But ‘tis na love like mine.

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