Читать книгу The Blue Poetry Book - Lang Andrew, May Kendall - Страница 31

Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon,

How can ye blume sae fair!

How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu’ o’ care.

Thou’lt break my heart, thou bonie bird,

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o’ the happy days,

When my fause luve was true.

Thou’lt break my heart, thou bonie bird,

That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,

And wist na o’ my fate.

Aft hae I rov’d by bonie Doon,

To see the woodbine twine,

And ilka bird sang o’ its love,

And sae did I o’ mine.

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose

Frae off its thorny tree;

And my fause luver staw the rose,

But left the thorn wi’ me.