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　　Behold, My Love, How Green The Groves

　　Tune—“My lodging is on the cold ground.”

　　Behold, my love, how green the groves,

　　The primrose banks how fair;

　　The balmy gales awake the flowers,

　　And wave thy flowing hair.

　　The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,

　　And o'er the cottage sings:

　　For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween,

　　To Shepherds as to Kings.

　　Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string,

　　In lordly lighted ha':

　　The Shepherd stops his simple reed,

　　Blythe in the birken shaw.

　　The Princely revel may survey

　　Our rustic dance wi' scorn;

　　But are their hearts as light as ours,

　　Beneath the milk-white thorn!

　　The shepherd, in the flowery glen;

　　In shepherd's phrase, will woo:

　　The courtier tells a finer tale,

　　But is his heart as true!

　　These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck

　　That spotless breast o' thine:

　　The courtiers' gems may witness love,

　　But, 'tis na love like mine. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns