O grey-leafy pinks o' the geärden,
Now bear her sweet blossoms;
Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar.
Her head in the Spring.
O light-rollèn wind blow me hither,
The väice ov her talkèn,
Or bring vrom her veet the light doust,
She do tread in the Spring.
O zun, meäke the gil'cups all glitter,
In goold all around her;