122. The Lass o’ Ballochmyle (Robert Burns Poems)
'TWAS even-the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls hang; The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, And bore ...
'TWAS even-the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls hang; The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, And bore ...
HOW cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd; How ...
O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try The poet's occupation? The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration; Even they ...
HOW pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, With green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming fair! But the boniest ...
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