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The Banks O' Doon
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Burns Original |
Standard English Translation |
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How can you bloom so fresh and fair? How can you chant, you little birds, And I so weary full of care! You will break my heart, you warbling bird, That flies through the flowering thorn! You remind me of departed joys, Departed never to return. Often have I roved by bonny Doon To see the rose and woodbine twine, And every bird sang of its love, And fondly so did I of mine. With lightsome heart I plucked a rose, Full sweet upon its thorny tree! And my false lover stole my rose - But ah! he left the thorn with me. |
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