fragment—her flowing locks

    her flowing locks, the raven's wing,

    adown her neck and bosom hing;

    how sweet unto that breast to cling,

    and round that neck entwine her!

    her lips are roses wat wi' dew,

    o' what a feast her bonie mou'!

    her cheeks a mair celestial hue,

    a crimson still diviner!