I do confess thou art sae fair

I do confess thou art sae fair, I wad been o'er the lugs in luve; Had I na found, the slightest prayer That lips could speak, thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, but find, Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, Thy favors are the silly wind That kisseth ilka thing it meets. See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, Amang its native briers sae coy, How sune it tines its scent and hue, When pu'd and worn a common toy! Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide; Tho' thou may gayly bloom a while, Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside, Like ony common weed and vile.


Barbara Rafferty

About this work

This is a song by Robert Burns. It was written in 1792 and is read here by Barbara Rafferty.

Themes for this song

woman love beauty

Selected for 20 June

Yesterday's somewhat vapid and vapoury poem was unconvincingly het up and pretentious. So is today's! Maybe summer is to blame...

Donny O'Rourke

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