Роберт Бернс (Robert Burns)

Adown Winding Nith

ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
  To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
Adown winding Nith I did wander,
  Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

  Awa wi’ your belles and your beauties,
    They never wi’ her can compare;
  Whaever has met wi’ my Phillis,
    Has met wi’ the queen o’ the fair.

The daisy amus’d my fond fancy,
  So artless, so simple, so wild;
Thou emblem, said I, o’ my Phillis,
  For she is Simplicity’s child.

The rose-bud’s the blush o’ my charmer,
  Her sweet balmy lip when ‘tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily,
  But fairer and purer her breast.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
  They ne’er wi’ my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath o’ the woodbine,
  Its dew-drop o’ diamond her eye.

Her voice is the song of the mornin
  That wakes through the green-spreading grove,
When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,
  On music, and pleasure, and love.

But beauty how frail and how fleeting!
  The bloom of a fine summer’s day!
While worth in the mind o’ my Phillis
  Will flourish without a decay.