And shall I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!
The cold blasts o' the winter wind,
That thirléd through my heart,
They're a' blown by, I hae him safe,
'Till death we'll never part;
But what puts parting in my head?
It may be far awa!
The present moment is our ain,