The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||
231
BY ALLAN STREAM
I
By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,While Phebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready;
I listen'd to a lover's sang,
An' thought on youthfu' pleasures monie,
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang:—
‘O, my love Annie's very bonie!
II
‘O, happy be the woodbine bower,Nae nightly bogle make it eerie!
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
The place and time I met my dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said:—“I'm thine for ever!”
While monie a kiss the seal imprest—
The sacred vow we ne'er should sever.’
III
The haunt o' Spring's the primrose-brae.The Summer joys the flocks to follow.
How cheery thro' her short'ning day
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow!
232
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||