Poem by Allan Cunningham

Bonnie Lady Ann

There's kames o' hinnie 'tween my luve's lips,
⁠     And gowd amang her hair:
Her breists are lapt in a holy veil;
⁠     Nae mortal een keek there.
What lips daur kiss, or what hand daur touch,
⁠     Or what arm o' luve daur span,
The hinnie lips, the creamy lufe,
⁠     Or the waist o' Lady Ann?

She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rose,
⁠     Wat wi' the blobs o' dew;
But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip,
⁠     Maun touch her ladie mou'.
But a broider'd belt, wi' a buckle o' gowd,
⁠     Her jimpy waist maun span:
Oh, she's an armfu' fit for heeven—
⁠     My bonnie Lady Ann!

Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers.
⁠     Tied up wi' siller thread;
And comely sits she in the midst,
⁠     Men's langing een to feed.
She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,
⁠     Wi' her milky milky han';
And her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger o' God,
⁠     My bonnie Lady Ann.

The mornin' clud is tasselt wi' gowd,
     ⁠Like my luve's broider'd cap;
And on the mantle that my luve wears,
⁠     Is mony a gowden drap.
Her bonnie ee-bree's a holy arch,
⁠     Cast by nae earthly han',
And the breath o' heaven is atween the lips
     ⁠O' my bonnie Lady Ann.

I wonderin' gaze on her stately steps,
⁠     And I beet a hopeless flame!
To my luve, alas! she maunna stoop;
⁠     It wad stain her honour'd name.
My een are bauld, they dwall on a place
⁠     Where I daurna mint my han';
But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers
     ⁠O' my bonnie Lady Ann.

I am but her father's gardener lad,
⁠     And puir puir is my fa',
My auld mither gets my wee wee fee,
⁠     Wi' fatherless bairnies twa.
My lady comes, my lady gaes,
⁠     Wi' a fou and kindly han';
O, the blessin' o' God maun mix wi' my love,
⁠     And fa' on Lady Ann.

1. Bonnie Jeanie Walkinshaw
2. Gordon of Brackley
3. The Lily of Nithsdale
4. Margaret and Mary
5. Mary Halliday

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