By Hel’cons brink some pose tae clink,
An’ write verse by the mile;
Some ir rosy, some ir prosy,
Bit mark that doon as style.

Weel, at this time I fain wud rhyme
Aboot a girl I’ve seen,
Wha ’bin the rest, e’en at their best
Still reigns acknowledged Queen.

Fur beauty rare, nane can compare
In al’ the human race,
Fur virtue too hoo very few
Seem tae possess sic grace.

Hir eyes sae true, o’ azure blue,
Ir like those o’ the dove,
They sparkle brichtbaith day an’ nicht,
Aye beamin’ foo o’ love.

Sure whun on me she lets thim be
They perforate my heart,
Hir comic wink gars me aft think
On fair young Cupid’s dart.

She lucks sae meek, wae hair sae sleek,
That’s like the raven’s wing.
Which I wud say this frizzy day
Is nae a triflin’ thing.

Hir skin is white, an’ clear as light,
Hir lips weel cut, an’ fine,
“Hir cheeks are red,” some yin has said,
“As lilies dipt in wine.”

Hir waist is smal’, she’s strecht an’ tal’,
Al’ ithersir beneath;
An’ she has got whut some hae not,
Those priceless wisdom teeth.

Hirwa’k is neat, hirta’k is sweet,
She’s iverything in yin;
I’m proud taetel’ she’s “nonpariel,”
‘Neath starts, an’ moon, an’ sin.

She takes a part wae al’ hir heart
In trainin’ up the youth
Tae leeve by faith, in view o’ daith,
An’ stick like burrs tae truth.

That man is blest above the rest
What wins hir as his bride,
Shud it be me thin och-an-ee
Hoo sweetly life micht glide.

Young Nummer
February 1904

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