Cauld, cauld she lies where snaws are deep
And bitter blaws the muirland win',
And over her grave the icy stars
Are keepin' watch abune.
But braw, O braw, the blooms that deck
The grave where he that lo'ed her lies,
And saftly blaws the simmer breeze,
And cloudless are the skies.
More verses by William Gay
- Love's Menu: Pommes De Terre Frites
- The Singer
- The Sorrowful Fate Of Bartholomew Jones
- To A Nurse