Robert Burns

* * *

O, WAT ye wha’s in yon town,
  Ye see the e’enin sun upon?
The dearest maid’s in yon town,
  That e’enin sun is shining on.

Now haply down you gay green shaw,
  She wanders by yon spreading tree:
How blest ye flow’rs that round her blaw,
  Ye catch the glances o’ her e’e!

How blest ye birds that round her sing,
  And welcome in the blooming year!
And doubly welcome be the spring
  The season to my Jeanie dear!

The sun blinks blithe on yon town,
  And on yon bonnie braes sae green;
But my delight in yon town,
  And dearest pleasure, is my Jean.

Without my love, not a’ the charms
  O’ Paradiae could yield me joy;
But gie me Jeanie in my arms,
  And welcome Lapland’s dreary sky!

My cave wad be a lover’s bower,
  Tho’ raging winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
  That I wad tent and shelter there.

O sweet is she in yon town,
  Yon sinkin sun’s gane down upon;
A fairer than’s in yon town,
His setting beam ne’er shone upon.

If angry fate is sworn my foe,
  And suffering I am doom’d to bear;
I careless quit all else below,
  But spare, O spare me Jeanie dear.

For while life’s dearest blood is warm,
  Ae thought frae her shall ne’er depart,
And she-as fairest is her form,
  She has the truest, kindest heart.