I ken her lips might tempt the bee—
Her een with stars compare,
Such transient gifts I ne’er did prize,
My heart they couldna win;
I dinna scorn my Jeannie’s eyes—
But has she ony tin?
The fairest cheek, alas! may fade
Beneath the touch of years;
The een where light and gladness play’d
May soon graw dim wi’ tears.