 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
27
SWEET ARE THE BANKS
I
Sweet are the banks, the banks o' Doon,The spreading flowers are fair,
And everything is blythe and glad,
But I am fu' o' care.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings upon the bough!
Thou minds me o' the happy days
When my fause Luve was true.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings beside thy mate,
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate!
II
Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon,To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Upon its thorny tree,
But my fause luver staw my rose,
And left the thorn wi' me.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Upon a morn in June,
And sae I flourish'd on the morn,
And sae was pu'd or noon.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |