Classic Poem

Oh , Jeanie's locks are like the gowd,
Her bosom's like the snaw,
Her breath is sweet as ev'nin' winds
That 'mang the vi'lets blaw.
Her e'e is o' the lift abune,
A clear unclouded blue,
An' no' a streak o' sorrow yet
Upon her bonnie broo.

Like blebs o' dew the blessed words
Aye frae her lips do fa';
She's artless as the little birds
That warble in the shaw.
Oh, had I but an humble cot
By Cartha's murm'rin' stream,
HoOhappy then wad be my lot
Were she that cottage queen!

Her faither is a belted knight,
An' I'm a widow's son;
Was ever love in sic a plight,
Or sic a leddy won?
I daurna tell the love I feel,
And ne'er a hope I've got;
But tho' she never can be mine,
Still happy be her lot.

An' oh, may sorrow never light
Upon a thing sae fair,
An' never, never falsehood blight,
Nor cloud her broo wi' care;
But, like the little bird that sings
The lee-lang simmer day,
With joyous dreams o' happy things
May her life glide away.