COME awa', my fair love,
An' snuff the cauler air;
The sang o' th' turtle dove
Crunes saftly that nae mair
Do cauld an' wat invite
Us till the ingle-side;
Nor winter's plaid o' white
Spread out its faulds sae wide.
The primrose pavit th' mead,
The gowans teet on th' lea;
The burnie's arms are freed,
He loupit wi' liquid glee.
Sweet sangs hang on saft lips,
And float the land aboon;
The bee frae orchards sips
Read more in News
The Vesper Service.