Robert Burns


OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,
    I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie 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 bonnie flower that springs
    By fountain, shaw, or green;
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings,
    But minds me o' my Jean.