Are as the words the waves wash out
When traced upon the san'."
"I mauna think yer speech is sooth,"
Saft answered the Lilye;
"I winna dout mine ain gude knicht
Tho' he's ayont the sea!"
Then scornfully the Rose sae red
Spake to the puir Lilye—
"The vows he feigned at thy bouir door,
He plicht in mine to me!"