Bonnie Lady Ann

There's kames o' hinnie 'tween my luve's lips,

And gowd amang her hair:

Her breists are lapt in a holy veil;

Nae mortal een keek there.

What lips daur kiss, or what hand daur touch,

Or what arm o' luve daur span,

The hinnie lips, the creamy lufe,

Or the waist o' Lady Ann?

She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rose,

Wat wi' the blobs o' dew;

But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip,

Maun touch her ladie mou'.

But a broider'd belt, wi' a buckle o' gowd,

Her jimpy waist maun span:

Oh, she's an armfu' fit for heeven—

My bonnie Lady Ann!

Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers.

Tied up wi' siller thread;

And comely sits she in the midst,

Men's langing een to feed.

She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,

Wi' her milky milky han';

And her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger o' God,

My bonnie Lady Ann.

The mornin' clud is tasselt wi' gowd,

Like my luve's broider'd cap;

And on the mantle that my luve wears,

Is mony a gowden drap.

Her bonnie ee-bree's a holy arch,

Cast by nae earthly han',

And the breath o' heaven is atween the lips

O' my bonnie Lady Ann.

I wonderin' gaze on her stately steps,

And I beet a hopeless flame!

To my luve, alas! she maunna stoop;

It wad stain her honour'd name.

My een are bauld, they dwall on a place

Where I daurna mint my han';

But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers

O' my bonnie Lady Ann.

I am but her father's gardener lad,

And puir puir is my fa',

My auld mither gets my wee wee fee,

Wi' fatherless bairnies twa.

My lady comes, my lady gaes,

Wi' a fou and kindly han';

O, the blessin' o' God maun mix wi' my love,

And fa' on Lady Ann.