Fine flowers in the valley,
And ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead,"
And the green leaves they grow rarely.
She's ta'en out her little penknife,
Fine flowers in the valley,
And twinn'd the sweet babe o' its life,
And the green leaves they grow rarely.
She's howket a grave by the light o' the moon,
Fine flowers in the valley,
And there she's buried her sweet babe in,