My Ain Kind Dearie, O

When o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;
And owsen frae the furrow'd field
Return sae dowf and weary, O;
Down by the burn, where scented birks
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo;
I 'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
I 'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O;
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie, O!
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
And I were ne'er sae wearie, O,
I 'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo;
Gie me the hour o' gloaming grey,
It maks my heart sae cheery O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

Robert Burns . 1759-1796

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Robert Burns
born 1759, died 1796

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My Ain Kind Dearie, O - Robert Burns - poetry, poems

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