Wee, modest, crimson-tipp èd flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem
Alas
it's no thy neibor sweet, The bonie lark, companion meet, Ben...
I'm a pretty little thing,
Always coming with the spring;
In the meadows green I'm found,
Peeping just above the ground,
Where the thistle lifts a purple crown Six foot out of the turf,
And the harebell shakes on the windy hill— O breath of the distant surf
— The hills look over on the South, And southward dreams the sea;
And with the sea-breeze hand ...