Classic Poem

My love she's but a lassie yet,
A lightsome lovely lassie yet;
— — — It scarce wad do
— — — To sit an' woo
Down by the stream sae glassy yet.

But there's a braw time coming yet,
When we may gang a-roaming yet;
— — — An' hint wi' glee
— — — O' joys to be,
When fa's the modest gloaming yet.

She's neither proud nor saucy yet,
She's neither plump nor gaucy yet;
But just a jinking,
Bonny blinking,
Hilty-skilty lassie yet.

But O, her artless smile's mair sweet
Than hinny or than marmalete;
— — — An' right or wrang,
— — — Ere it be lang,
I'll bring her to a parley yet.

I'm jealous o' what blesses her,
The very breeze that kisses her,
— — — The flowery beds
— — — On which she treads,
Though wae for ane that misses her.

Then O, to meet my lassie yet,
Up in yon glen sae grassy yet;
— — — For all I see
— — — Are naught to me,
Save her that's but a lassie yet.