Robert Burns

* * *

O LASSIE art thou sleeping yet?
Or art thou wakin’, I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot,
  And I would fain be in, jo.

    O let me in this ae night,
      This ae, ae, ae night;
    For pity’s sake this ae night,
      O rise and let me in, jo.

Thou hear’st the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro’ the driving sleet;
Tak pity on my weary feet,
  And shield me frae the rain, jo.

The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa’s;
The cauldness o’ thy heart’s the cause
  Of a’ my grief and pain, jo.

        HER ANSWER.

O TELL na me o’ wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi’ cauld disdain!
Gae back the gait ye cam again,
  I winna let you in, jo.

    I tell you now this ae night,
      This ae, ae, ae night;
    And ance for a’ this ae night,
      I winna let you in, jo.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hour,
That round the pathless wand’rer pours,
Is nocbt to what poor she endures,
  That’s trusted faithless man, jo.

The sweetest flower that deck’d the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed;
Let simple maid the lesson read,
  The weird may be her ain, jo.

The bird that charm’d his summer-day
Is now the cruel fowler’s prey;
Let witless, trusting woman say
  How aft her fate’s the same, jo.