Of a' the Airts
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo’e best.
There wild woods grow and rivers row,
And monie a hill between;
But day and night my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers;
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu’ birds;
I hear her charm the air.
There’s not a bonie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There’s not a bonie bird that sings,
But minds me o’ my Jean.
