Robert Burns

* * *

O, WERE I on Parnassus’ hill,
Or had of Helicon my fill!
That I might catch poetic skill,
  To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my Muse’s well,
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel;
On Corsincon I’ll glowr and spell,
  And write how dear I love thee.

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay!
For a’ the lee-lang simmer’s day,
I could na sing, I could na say,
  How much, how dear, I love thee.
I see thee dancing o’er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean.
Thy tempting looks, thy roguish een-
  By Heaven and earth I love thee!

By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o’ thee my breast inflame
And aye I muse and sing thy name-
  I only live to love thee.
Tho’ I were doom’d to wander on,
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
Till my last weary sand was run;
  Till then-and then I’d love thee.