by Robert Burns
Yon banks and hills of bonnie Doon,
How can you bloom so fresh and fair?
And little birds, how can you chaunt
With me so weary... full o' care?
You'll break my heart, you warbling birds
That wanton thru the flow'ry thorns
You remind me of departed joys
Departed... never to return.
Oft did I rove by bonnie Doon
To see the rose and woodbine twine
And every bird sang of its love
As fondly once I sang of mine.
With lightsome heart I pulled a rose
Full sweet from off its thorny tree
But my first lover stole that rose
And, ah! has left its thorns with me.