Robert Burns, 1793
Adown winding Nith I did wander,|
To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
Adown winding Nith I did wander,
Of Phillis to muse and to sing.
Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties,
They never wi' her can compare,
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.
2. The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
3. The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
4. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,|
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath of the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye.
5. Her voice is the song o' the morning,
6. But beauty, how frail and how fleeting!
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