Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
 | I. |
| II. |
THE BELOVED ONE. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
THE BELOVED ONE.
O! the rose is like her ruby lip,
And the lily like her skin;
And her mouth like a faulded violet,
Wi' the scented breath within;
And her een are like yon bonnie flower
When the dew is in its cup;—
As the bee frae it its honey draws,
I love frae them maun sip.
And the lily like her skin;
And her mouth like a faulded violet,
Wi' the scented breath within;
And her een are like yon bonnie flower
When the dew is in its cup;—
As the bee frae it its honey draws,
I love frae them maun sip.
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O! her voice is like yon little bird's
That sits in the cherry-tree:
For the air o' the sky and the heart o' man
It fills wi' its melodie.
Her hand is soft as the downy peach
Upon yon branch that hings;
An' her hair its gloss sae rich has stown
Frae the bonnie blackbird's wings!
That sits in the cherry-tree:
For the air o' the sky and the heart o' man
It fills wi' its melodie.
Her hand is soft as the downy peach
Upon yon branch that hings;
An' her hair its gloss sae rich has stown
Frae the bonnie blackbird's wings!
O! her smile is like the sun that shines
Upon yon fair wa'-flower—
As the bonnie buds this plays among,
Her face that wanders o'er.
But a love-warm kiss o' her rosy mou'
Wi' naething can compare,—
Sae meikle o' bliss an' holiness
The craving heart might sair.
Upon yon fair wa'-flower—
As the bonnie buds this plays among,
Her face that wanders o'er.
But a love-warm kiss o' her rosy mou'
Wi' naething can compare,—
Sae meikle o' bliss an' holiness
The craving heart might sair.
O! the garden-flowers are fair an' pure—
The rose an' the lily too;
An' the wall-flower rich in Nature's wealth—
An' the peeping violet blue:
O! bonnie as Heaven itsel', an' pure,
Are the flowers o' ilka kind;
But they ha'ena the womanly purity
O' my darling Jeanie's mind!
The rose an' the lily too;
An' the wall-flower rich in Nature's wealth—
An' the peeping violet blue:
O! bonnie as Heaven itsel', an' pure,
Are the flowers o' ilka kind;
But they ha'ena the womanly purity
O' my darling Jeanie's mind!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |