Robert Burns

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  LASSIE wi’ the lint-white locks,
    Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
  Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks?
    Wilt thou be my dearie O?

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a’ is young and sweet like thee;
O wilt thou share its joys wi’ me,
  And say thou’lt be my dearie O?

The primrose bank, the wimpling burn,
The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,
The wanton lambs at early morn
  Shall welcome thee, my dearie O.

And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has cheer’d ilk drooping little flower,
We’ll to the breathing woodbine bower
  At sultry noon, my dearie O.

When Cynthia lights, wi’ silver ray,
The weary shearer’s hameward way,
Thro’ yellow waving fields we’ll stray,
  And talk o’ love, my dearie O

And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie’s midnight rest;
Enclasped to my faithfu’ breast,
  I’ll comfort thee, my dearie O.