O WERE my love yon Lilac fair,
Wi purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn when it was torn
By Autumn wild, and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu May its bloom renewd.
O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa;
And I myself a drap o dew,
Into her bonie breast to fa!
O there, beyond expression blest,
Id feast on beauty a the night;
Seald on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fleyd awa by Phoebus light!
