Classic Poem

1

The bonny march morning is beaming,
In strange and crimson grey;
White clouds are streaking and creaming,
In the sky till the noon of the day:
The fir dale looks darker and greener
And the grass hills below look the same
The air all about is serener
And the birds less familliar and tame.

2

Here's two or three flowers for my fair one
Wood-primroses, and celandine too
I oft look about for a rare one
To put in a poesy for you
The birds look so cleanly and neatly
Though there's not a leaf on the grove
The sun shines about me so sweetly
I cannot help thinking of love.

3

So where the blue violets are peeping
By the warm sunny side of the woods
And the primrose 'neath early morn weeping
Amid a large cluster of buds
The morning it was such a rare one
So dewy so sunny and fair
I sought the wild flowers for my fair one
To wreath[e] in her black glossy hair.