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Poem by Robert Burns
Blythe Was She
Chorus.-Blythe, blythe and merry was she, Blythe was she but and ben; Blythe by the banks of Earn, And blythe in Glenturit glen. By Oughtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; But Phemie was a bonier lass Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. Blythe, blythe, &c. Her looks were like a flow'r in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn: She tripped by the banks o' Earn, As light's a bird upon a thorn. Blythe, blythe, &c. Her bonie face it was as meek As ony lamb upon a lea; The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. Blythe, blythe, &c. The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, And o'er the Lawlands I hae been; But Phemie was the blythest lass That ever trod the dewy green. Blythe, blythe, &c.
Robert Burns's other poems:
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