Poetry of Burns
Robert Burns
born 1759, died 1796 |
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The Blue-Eyed Lass
I gaed a waefu' gate yesterseen,
A gate, I fear, I 'll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips, like roses, wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom, lily-white -
It was her een sae bonnie blue.
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd;
She charm'd my soul - I wist na how;
And ay the stound, the deadly wound,
Came frae her een sae bonnie blue.
But spare to speak, and spare to speed;
She 'll aiblins listen to my vow:
Should she refuse, I 'll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonnie blue.
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