Song—I do confess thou art sae fair

I do confess thou art sae fair,
  I was been o'er the lugs in luve,
Had i na found the slightest prayer
  That lips could speak thy heart could muve.

I do confess thee sweet, but find
  Thou art so thriftless o' thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind
  That kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rosebud, rich in dew,
  Amang its native briers sae coy;
How sune it tines its scent and hue,
  When pu'd and worn a common toy.

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,
  Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile;
And sune thou shalt be thrown aside,
  Like ony common weed and vile.

Published in Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

Tags:

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.