Mary Morison

O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wish’d the trysted hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That makes the miser’s treasure poor.
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure —
The lovely Mary Morison!

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard or saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a’the town,
I sigh’d, and said amang them a’ —
“Ye are na Mary Morison!”

O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o’ Mary Morison.

 

Robert Burns

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About Alan

Settling into my 7th decade and still determined not to grow up too soon.
This entry was posted in Life, don't talk to me about life!. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Mary Morison

  1. Alan says:

    MAD SONG

    The wild winds weep
    And the night is a-cold;
    Come hither, Sleep,
    And my griefs infold:
    But lo! the morning peeps
    Over the eastern steeps,
    And the rustling birds of dawn
    The earth do scorn.

    Lo! to the vault
    Of paved heaven,
    With sorrow fraught
    My notes are driven:
    They strike the ear of night,
    Make weep the eyes of day;
    They make mad the roaring winds,
    And with tempests play.

    Like a fiend in a cloud,
    With howling woe,
    After night I do crowd,
    And with night will go;
    I turn my back to the east,
    From whence comforts have increas’d;
    For light doth seize my brain
    With frantic pain.

    William Blake

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