An’ so it seems it is reported,
That I hae ne’er been woo’d nor courted,
But de’il speed lies;
The bonny lads came flocking round me,
Enough in conscience to confound me,
Like hives of bees.
But I was cald as winter snaw,
An’ nae return would ever shaw
For a’ their favours ;
An’ now ye see ye hae been wrang,
Nae mair o’ me ye’ll make a sang,
But had ye’r clavers.
Yet out o’ spite I’ll tell the rest,
An’ which o’ them I liked best,
Wha was sae clever,
To melt this icy breast o’ mine,
To take my heart without design,
An’ keep it ever.
It was a lad wi’ yellow hair,
Wi’ rosy cheeks, an’ forehead fair,
An’ light blue een;
The like o’ him on hill or dale,
In borough’s town, or country vale,
Was never seen.
O vow but he was proud an’ saucy,
An’ better loo’d anither lassy,
Wha had some sille;
But I hae five an five good nails,
An’, ere my strength or courage fails,
I’ll wi’ them till her.
(Rebekah Carmichael)
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Based on Topics: Fairness Poems, Hair Poems, Lies & Deceit Poems, Conscience Poems, Design PoemsBased on Keywords: cald, clavers, sille, lassy