O WERE my Love yon lilac fair,   Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, And I a bird to shelter there,   When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn when it was torn   By autumn wild and winter rude! But I wad sing on wanton wing   When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.

O gin my Love were yon red rose   That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel a drap o' dew,   Into her bonnie breast to fa'; O there, beyond expression blest,   I'd feast on beauty a' the night; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,   Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.