Behold, my love, how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair:
The lavrock shuns the palace gay, (lark)
And o'er the cottage sings;
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, (imagine)
To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skillfu' string,
In lordly lighted ha'; (hall)
The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blythe, in the birchen shaw: (cheerful) (birch wood)
The princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn,
But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milkwhite thorn.

The shepherd in the flowery glen,
In shepherd's phase will woo;
The courtier tells a finer tale,
But is his heart as true:
These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd to deck (pulled)
That spotless breast o' thine;
The courtier's gems may witness love,
But 'tis na love like mine.



Written by Robert Burns


Submitted by John McKay Withey