Mary Morison - Poem by Robert Burns
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.
Comments about Mary Morison by Robert Burns
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You