Bonnie Joann, and other poems

We’ve stookit the hairst an’ we’re needin’
To gaither it in,
Syne, gin the morn’s dry, we’ll be leadin’
An’ wark’ll begin;
But noo I’ll awa doon the braeside
My lane, while I can—
Wha kens wha he’ll meet by the wayside,
My bonnie Joann?

East yonder, the hairst-fields are hidin’
The sea frae my een,
Gin ye keek whaur the stocks are dividin’
Ye’ll see it atween.
Sae douce an’ sae still it has sleepit
Since hairst-time began
Like my he’rt—gin ye’d tak’ it an’ keep it
My bonnie Joann.

Owre a’thing the shadows gang trailin’,
Owre stubble an’ strae;
Frae the hedge to the fit o’ the pailin’
They rax owre the way;
But the sun may gang through wi’ his beamin’
An’ traivel his span,
For aye, by the licht o’ my dreamin’,
I see ye, Joann.

Awa frae ye, naebody’s braver,
Mair wise-like an’ bauld,
Aside ye, I hech an’ I haver,
I’m het an’ I’m cauld;
But oh! could I tell wi’out speakin’
The he’rt o’ a man,
Ye micht find I’m the lad that ye’re seekin’,
My bonnie Joann!