Or hear a throssle sing;
I greàn at t’ fresh green leaves on t’ trees;
I turn frae t’ flooers o’ May,
For t’ croft was white wid dog-daisies
When Jwohn was teàn away.
We coortit lang, dud Jwohn an’ me—
We waitit lang an’ sair—
He thowte oor weddin’ mūdn’t be
While beàth war poor an’ bare;
An’ sep’rat’, I gat past my prime,