The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||
PRETTY PEG
I
As I gaed up by yon gate-end,When day was waxin weary,
Wha did I meet come down the street
But pretty Peg, my dearie?
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II
Her air so sweet, her shape complete,Wi' nae proportion wanting—
The Queen of Love could never move
Wi' motion mair enchanting!
III
With linkèd hands we took the sandsDown by yon winding river;
And O! that hour, and shady bow'r,
Can I forget it? Never!
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||