Robert Burns

* * *

O WHA is she that lo’es me,
  And has my heart a-keeping?
O sweet is she that lo’es me,
  As dews o’ simmer weeping,
  In tears the rose-buds steeping.

    O that’s the lassie o’ my heart,
      My lassie ever dearer;
    O that’s the queen o’ womankind.
      And ne’er a ane to peer her.

If thou shalt meet a lassie,
  In grace and beauty charming,
That e’en thy chosen lassie,
  Erewhile thy breast sae warming,
  Had ne’er sic powers alarming;

If thou hadat heard her talking
  And thy attentions plighted,
That ilka body talking,
  But her by thee is slighted,
  And thou art all delighted;

If thou hast met this fair one;
  When frae her thou hast parted,
If every other fair one,
  But her, thou hast deserted,
  And thou art broken-hearted;

    O that’s the lassie, &c.