For nane but the reid rose kens what my lassie gie’d him—
It an’ us twa!
He canna sing for the sang that his ain he’rt raises,
He canna see for the mist that’s afore his een,
An’ a voice drouns the hale o’ the psalms an’ the paraphrases,
Cryin’ ‘Jean, Jean, Jean!’
ANNA BUNSTON DE BARY
170. The Snowdrop
Close to the sod
There can be seen