The Banks of Doon
by Robert Burns
This is the third of three versions written by the author.
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu' o' care!
Ye'll break my heart, ye warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Ye minds me o' departed joys,
Departed--never to return!
Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover staw my rose,
But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
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