 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
55
THE MARIGOLD.
I ken a sweet spot where the marigold blooms,
And pinkies breathe balm in their season,
Where the rambler may roam frae the dawn to the gloam,
And no churlish laird ask the reason.
There the lark a' day lang trills his lady-love's praise,
And wagtails their mates seek to gladden,
While the burn wimples doun wi' a saft singin' soun'
Through the gowany howes o' Garscadden.
And pinkies breathe balm in their season,
Where the rambler may roam frae the dawn to the gloam,
And no churlish laird ask the reason.
There the lark a' day lang trills his lady-love's praise,
And wagtails their mates seek to gladden,
While the burn wimples doun wi' a saft singin' soun'
Through the gowany howes o' Garscadden.
Weel kent is the spot where the marigold blooms,
The peesweep's wild pæan sounds o'er it;
The goldie secure 'mang the whins has her nest,
The wren 'neath the bracken before it.
Dear, dear is it aye to the bright bonny burn,
Sae blithely its seaward way haudin',
And dear to the shilfa aboon it that broods
In the balmy haw-bloom o' Garscadden.
The peesweep's wild pæan sounds o'er it;
The goldie secure 'mang the whins has her nest,
The wren 'neath the bracken before it.
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Sae blithely its seaward way haudin',
And dear to the shilfa aboon it that broods
In the balmy haw-bloom o' Garscadden.
Oh, bleak was the spot where the marigold blooms
When the March winds were blustering around it;
And bleak when the burn ceased to wimple and sing
In the grasp o' the ice-king that bound it.
'Twas nae place to gang wi' a fou heavy heart,
For care there the mair seemed to madden;
But spring wi' a bound comes to brighten and soothe
The homes and the hearts o' Garscadden.
When the March winds were blustering around it;
And bleak when the burn ceased to wimple and sing
In the grasp o' the ice-king that bound it.
'Twas nae place to gang wi' a fou heavy heart,
For care there the mair seemed to madden;
But spring wi' a bound comes to brighten and soothe
The homes and the hearts o' Garscadden.
To the sweet modest pinkie lang faithfu' I've been,
O' singin' its praise never weary,
And seeking at gloaming its home on the fen,
As ane seeks the home o' his dearie.
And now in my eild I've grown fickle, I ween,
Transferring my warmest applaudin';
But nowhere on earth is sic marigold bloom
As among the green howes o' Garscadden.
O' singin' its praise never weary,
And seeking at gloaming its home on the fen,
As ane seeks the home o' his dearie.
And now in my eild I've grown fickle, I ween,
Transferring my warmest applaudin';
But nowhere on earth is sic marigold bloom
As among the green howes o' Garscadden.
| Annie Weir and Other Poems | |