University of Virginia Library

HER FLOWING LOCKS

I

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing.
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!

II

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew—
O, what a feast, her bonie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner!