Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/208
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THE WILD FLOWER.
"The sky-blue glow o' the violet
Shines oot frae its cosy nook,
An' the harebell's pride nods owre the side
O' the crystal-rinnin' brook;
The snaw-white virgin lily,
The yellow-frilled daffodil,
Bestud the knowe an' the huntin' howe,
An' the emerald-tinted hill.
Shines oot frae its cosy nook,
An' the harebell's pride nods owre the side
O' the crystal-rinnin' brook;
The snaw-white virgin lily,
The yellow-frilled daffodil,
Bestud the knowe an' the huntin' howe,
An' the emerald-tinted hill.
"But o' a' the shinin' colours
O' purple an' azure dye,
That paint the flowers o' the woodland bowers
Sae fair an' sae ruddily,
I lo'e the white o' the gowan,
A' modest-like an' mild,
Wi' its spotless face o' maiden grace—
'Tis the meadow's bonniest child.
O' purple an' azure dye,
That paint the flowers o' the woodland bowers
Sae fair an' sae ruddily,
I lo'e the white o' the gowan,
A' modest-like an' mild,
Wi' its spotless face o' maiden grace—
'Tis the meadow's bonniest child.
"O gowan, gowd-lipt gowan,
Wi' yer rosy-spangled crest,
An' yer stainless lips, whaur the clear dew drips,
'Tis you I lo'e the best."
Wi' yer rosy-spangled crest,
An' yer stainless lips, whaur the clear dew drips,
'Tis you I lo'e the best."
The Wild Flower.
Stop, pretty stranger, stop and see
The modest flower, wild, and free—
That sips of Nature's draught divine,
Nor envies man's oft boasted wine.
The modest flower, wild, and free—
That sips of Nature's draught divine,
Nor envies man's oft boasted wine.
Oh, what delight to kiss the morn,
Perhaps some other floweret born,
To add companions to the vale,
To cheer the ever-stirring gale!
Perhaps some other floweret born,
To add companions to the vale,
To cheer the ever-stirring gale!
And hark! dost hear the lively song,
That with its echo wafts along,
To lull my stationary hours,
And charm my sister budding flowers.
That with its echo wafts along,
To lull my stationary hours,
And charm my sister budding flowers.
Nay, do not go without a kiss,
Salute me, sweetest. Ah, what bliss!
The nectar from thy lips, behold,
Has left on mine the tints of gold.
Salute me, sweetest. Ah, what bliss!
The nectar from thy lips, behold,
Has left on mine the tints of gold.