 | Songs |  |
17
MARY WITH THE ROSIE LIPS.
SONG IX.
1
The birds wooe in spring time,And pair in summer green,
But I love aye the bonnie lass,
I kiss'd so kind yestreen:
For kissing comes from kindness,
The kirk can ne'er say na',
So I'll kiss my Mary's rosie lips,
Though all the world saw.
2
A charming armful is her waist,Laced in her silken gown,
And beauty ne'er with such a foot,
Bepress'd the gowans down;
She's blythsome as the new-flown thrush,
In lonesome glen or shaw,
And willing are her rosie lips,
Which I love best of a'.
3
Let dames bright-stoled the transports shun,Of love's adoring grips,
And deem the balmy breeze too rude,
That wooes their lady-lips,
18
Beneath the bloomy haw,
My Mary with the rosie lips,
I love her best of a'.
4
Yestreen she saunter'd 'mongst the woods,On Nith's green banks alone;
Mute listening with enraptur'd ear,
The ring-doves amorous moan.
I led my dew-lock'd maiden blythe,
Where beds of lillies blaw;
And oft, ere rose the moon, she vow'd
She loved me best of a'.
| Songs | |