Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care.
Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care.
We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, Wat ye how she cheated me, As I came o'er the braes of Balloch.
Love the fierce exulting worlds, the motes in rays, The churlish thistles, scented briers, The wind-swept bluebells on the sunny braes, Down to the central fires, Exist alike in Love. Love is a sea Filling all the abysses dim Of lornest space, in whose de.
Degged with dew, dappled with dew Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through, Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern, And the headbonny ash that sits over the burn.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes Flow gently, I 'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories