Caricamento in corso...

Of A’ the Airts

Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw
  I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,
  The lassie I lo’e best.
There wild woods grow and rivers row,
  And monie a hill between;
But day and night my fancy’s flight
  Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers;
  I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu’ birds;
  I hear her charm the air.
There’s not a bonie flower that springs
  By fountain, shaw, or green;
There’s not a bonie bird that sings,
  But minds me o’ my Jean.
Altre opere di Robert Burns...