SWEET are the banksthe banks o Doon,
The spreading flowers are fair,
And everything is blythe and glad,
But I am fu o care.
Thoull break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o the happy days
When my fause Luve was true:
Thoull 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.
Aft hae I rovd by bonie Doon,
To see the woodbine twine;
And ilka birds sang o its Luve,
And sae did I o mine:
Wi lightsome heart I pud a rose,
Upon its thorny tree;
But my fause Luver staw my rose
And left the thorn wi me:
Wi lightsome heart I pud a rose,
Upon a morn in June;
And sae I flourished on the morn,
And sae was pud or noon!