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O were my Love yon Lilack fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring; And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing. How I wad mourn, when it was torn By Autumn wild, and Winter rude! But I was sing on wanton wing, When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. [O gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa'! And I mysel' a drap o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa'! Oh, there beyond expression blesst I'd feast on beauty a' the night; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa by Phebus' light!]
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