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Poem by Robert Burns


Im Owre Young To Marry Yet


I AM my mammies ae bairn,
  Wi unco folk I weary, Sir;
And lying in a mans bed,
  Im fleyd wad mak me eerie, Sir.

    Im owre young, Im owre young,
      Im owre young to marry yet;
    Im owre young, twad be a sin
      To tak me frae my mammie yet.

My mammie coft me a new gown,
  The kirk maun hae the gracing ot;
Were I to lie wi you, kind Sir,
  Im feard yed spoil the lacing ot.

Hallowmas is come and gane,
  The nights are lang in winter, Sir;
And you an I in ae bed,
  In troth I dare na venture, Sir.

Fu loud and shrill the frosty wind
  Blaws thro the leafless timmer, Sir;
But if ye come this gate again,
  Ill aulder be gin simmer, Sir.



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Scroggam
  2. Lines Written on a Bank-note
  3. Lines Written at Loudon Manse
  4. To Alex Cunningham, Writer
  5. How Lang And Dreary


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