  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. R. Burns. |
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