Can you love my dear lassie the hills o' wild thyme
Where I made a Ballad in true lovers rhyme
Do you love the wild Common that neer was in furrow
Where I courted you truly to wed you tomorrow.

Do ye love the win bushes my ain bonny Bessey
Where the rude scenes o' nature still keeps her ain dress
Do ye love the wild Common where first I loved thee
Then come bonny Bess and gae walking wi me.

Where the wheat-ear is building her nes[t] i' the gorse
Where the orchis is blooming over beds o' green moss
And the Rabbit and Pheasant are bob[b]ing about

In woods and desart bounds
A beast abroad doth roame,
So loving sweetnesse and the honey combe,
It doth despise the armes of bees and wounds.
I by like pleasure led,
To prove what heavens did place
Of sweet on your faire face,
Whilst therewith I am fed,
Rest carelesse, beare of love, of hellish smart,
And how those eyes afflict and wound my heart.

The wind blew out from Bergen from the dawning to the day,
There was a wreck of trees and fall of towers a score of miles away,
And drifted like a livid leaf I go before its tide,
Spewed out of house and stable, beggared of flag and bride.
The heavens are bowed about my head, shouting like seraph wars,
With rains that might put out the sun and clean the sky of stars,
Rains like the fall of ruined seas from secret worlds above,
The roaring of the rains of God none but the lonely love.
Feast in my hall, O foemen, and eat and drink and drain,

Dear urge no more that killing cause
Of our divorce;
Love is not fetter'd by such laws,
Nor bows to any force:
Though thou deniest I should be thine,
Yet say not thou deserv'st not to be mine.

Oh rather frown away my breath
With thy disdain,
Or flatter me with smiles to death;
By joy or sorrow slain,
'Tis lesse crime to be kill'd by thee,
Then I thus cause of mine own death should be.

Thy self of beauty to devest
And me of love,
Or from the worth of thine own breast
Thus to detract, would prove
In us a blindnesse, and in thee

Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly;
Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.
Shortly wilt thou morn when all thy pleasures are bereaved;
Little knows he how to love that never was deceived.

This is thy first maiden flame, that triumphs yet unstained;
All is artless now you speak, not one word yet is feigned;
All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blesséd;
But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.

Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected;

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love Divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and Angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love Incarnate, Love Divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.

Oh! Shepherd John is good and kind,
Oh! Shepherd John is brave;
He loves the weakest of his flock,
His arm is quick to save.

But Shepherd John to little John
Says: ‘Learn, my laddie, learn!
In grassy nooks still read your books,
And aye for knowledge burn.

Read while you tend the grazing flock:
Had I but loved my book,
I'd not be still in shepherd's frock,
Nor bearing shepherd's crook.

The world is wide, the world is fair,
There's muckle work to do.
I'll rest content a shepherd still,
But grander fields for you!’

Sweet mother, in a minute's span
Death parts thee and my love of thee;
Sweet love, that yet art living man,
Come back, true love, to comfort me.
Back, ah, come back! ah wellaway!
But my love comes not any day.

As roses, when the warm West blows,
Break to full flower and sweeten spring,
My soul would break to a glorious rose
In such wise at his whispering.
In vain I listen; wellaway!
My love says nothing any day.

You that will weep for pity of love
On the low place where I am lain,
I pray you, having wept enough,

Now in the summer of life sweet-heart, You say you love but
me, Gladly I give all my heart to you,
Throbbing with ecstacy. But last night I saw while a-
dreaming, The future old and gray, And I
wondered if you'll love me then dear, Just as you do today.
You say the glow on my cheek sweet-heart, Is like the rose so
sweet; But when the bloom of fair youth has flown,
Then will our lips still meet? When life's setting sun fades a-
way dear, And all is said and done, Will your
arms still entwine and caress me, Will our hearts beat as one?

Like the first star that heralds glorious eve,
Like the first blush that beckons in the day,
Like the first snowdrop lavish Aprils weave
To deck the bosom of the festive May;
Like the warm carol of the early bird
Whose note was mute before, or idly heard;
Like all dear things just bursting; like the bloom

Of the first rosebud rending its green tomb,—
So burst thy love upon my helpless life,
Dear Mother, when that hour of pain and strife
That laid me in thine arms, gave place to tears
Of exquisite, sweet joy and holy fears!