O Wha Is She That Loves Me.

Tune - "Morag."


I.

    O wha is she that lo'es me,
        And has my heart a-keeping?
    O sweet is she that lo'es me,
        As dews of simmer weeping,
        In tears the rosebuds steeping!
                O that's the lassie of my heart,
                    My lassie ever dearer;
                O that's the queen of womankind,
                    And ne'er a ane to peer her.

II.

    If thou shalt meet a lassie
        In grace and beauty charming,
    That e'en thy chosen lassie,
        Erewhile thy breast sae warming
        Had ne'er sic powers alarming.

III.

    If thou hadst heard her talking,
        And thy attentions plighted,
    That ilka body talking,
        But her by thee is slighted,
        And thou art all delighted.

IV.

    If thou hast met this fair one;
        When frae her thou hast parted,
    If every other fair one,
        But her, thou hast deserted,
        And thou art broken-hearted;
                O that's the lassie o' my heart,
                    My lassie ever dearer;
                O that's the queen o' womankind,
                    And ne'er a ane to peer her.

Robert Burns

Robert Burns, also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire, and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. Born on January 25, 1759, in Alloway, he is best known for works such as 'Auld Lang Syne,' 'Scots Wha Hae,' and 'A Red, Red Rose.' He passed away on July 21, 1796, in Dumfries.

Robert Burns

On R.A., Esq.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Her Daddie Forbad.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Dr. Maxwell, On Jessie Staig's Recovery.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Thee, Loved Nith.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Yon Wild Mossy Mountains.

Tune - "Yon wild mossy mountains."


I.

    Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
    That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
    Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
    And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.
        Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
        And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.

II.

    Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny shores,
    To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors;
    For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
    Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.
        For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
        Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Robert Burns

This Is No My Ain Lassie.

Tune - "This is no my ain house."



I.

            O this is no my ain lassie,
                Fair tho' the lassie be;
            O weel ken I my ain lassie,
                Kind love is in her e'e.
    I see a form, I see a face,
    Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:
    It wants, to me, the witching grace,
        The kind love that's in her e'e.

II.

    She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
    And lang has had my heart in thrall;
    And ay it charms my very saul,
        The kind love that's in her e'e.

III.

    A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
    To steal a blink, by a' unseen;
    But gleg as light are lovers' een,
        When kind love is in the e'e.

IV.

...

Robert Burns

The Highland Lassie.

Tune - "The deuks dang o'er my daddy!"


I.

    Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
    Shall ever be my muse's care:
    Their titles a' are empty show;
    Gie me my Highland lassie, O.
            Within the glen sae bushy, O,
            Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
            I set me down wi' right good-will,
            To sing my Highland lassie, O.

II.

    Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
    Yon palace and yon gardens fine,
    The world then the love should know
    I bear my Highland lassie, O.

III.

    But fickle fortune frowns on me,
    And I maun cross the raging sea;
    But while my crimson currents flow,
    I'll love my Highland lassie, O.

IV.

    A...

Robert Burns

Country Lassie.

Tune - "The Country Lass."


I.

    In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
        And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
    While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
        And roses blaw in ilka bield;
    Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
        Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
    Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild
        O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

II.

    It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
        And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
    Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
        A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
    There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
        Fu' is his burn, fu' is his byre;
    Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
        It's plenty beets the luver's fire.

III.

    For Johnie ...

Robert Burns

The Lovely Lass Of Inverness.

Tune - "Lass of Inverness."


I.

    The lovely lass o' Inverness,
        Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
    For e'en and morn, she cries, alas!
        And ay the saut tear blin's her e'e:
    Drumossie moor, Drumossie day
        A waefu' day it was to me!
    For there I lost my father dear,
        My father dear, and brethren three.

II.

    Their winding sheet the bluidy clay,
        Their graves are growing green to see:
    And by them lies the dearest lad
        That ever blest a woman's e'e!
    Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
        A bluidy man I trow thou be;
    For mony a heart thou host made sair,
        That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee.

Robert Burns

Auld Rob Morris.

I.

    There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
    He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men;
    He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
    And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

II.

    She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
    She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
    As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea,
    And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

III.

    But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
    And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
    A wooer like me mamma hope to come speed;
    The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

IV.

    The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
    The night comes to me, but my...

Robert Burns