Song—Behold, my love, how green the groves
Behold, my love, how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flowing hair.
The lavÂ’rock shuns the palace gay,
And oÂ’er the cottage sings:
For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To Shepherds as to Kings.
Let minstrels sweep the skilfuÂ’ string,
In lordly lighted haÂ’:
The Shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blythe in the birken shaw.
The Princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wiÂ’ scorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours,
Beneath the milk-white thorn!
The shepherd, in the flowery glen;
In shepherdÂ’s phrase, will woo:
The courtier tells a finer tale,
But is his heart as true!
These wild-wood flowers IÂ’ve puÂ’d, to deck
That spotless breast oÂ’ thine:
The courtiersÂ’ gems may witness love,
But, Â’tis na love like mine.
Poems by Robert Burns
