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Poem by Allan Ramsay
How sweetly smells the simmer green; Sweet taste the peach and cherry; Painting and order please our een, And claret makes us merry: But finest colours, fruits and flowers, And wine, though I be thirsty, Lose a' their charms, and weaker powers, Compar'd wi' those of Chirsty. When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park, No natural beauty wanting; How lightsome is't to hear the lark, And birds in concert chanting! But if my Chirsty tunes her voice, I'm rapt in admiration; My thoughts wi' ecstasies rejoice, And drap the haill creation. Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance, I take the happy omen, And aften mint to make advance, Hoping she'll prove a woman. But, dubious of my ain desert, My sentiments I smother, Wi' secret sighs I vex my heart, For fear she love another. Thus sang blate Edie by a burn, His Chirsty did o'er-hear him; She doughtna let her lover mourn; But, ere he wist, drew near him. She spak' her favour wi' a look, Which left nae room to doubt her: He wisely this white minute took, And flang his arms about her. My Chirsty! witness, bonny stream, Sic joys frae tears arising! I wish this may na be a dream O love the maist surprising! Time was too precious now for tauk, This point of a' his wishes He wad na wi' set speeches bauk, But wair'd it a' on kisses.
Allan Ramsay's other poems:
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