THO' weel I lo'e the budding spring, I'll no misca' John Frost; Nor will I roose the simmer days at gowden autumn's cost: For a' the seasons in their turn, some wish'd-for pleasures bring, As hand in hand they jink aboot like weans at jingo ring. Fu' weel I mind how aft ye said, when winter nichts were lang, "I weary for the simmer woods, the lintie's tittering sang;" But when the woods grew gay and green, and birds sang sweet and clear, It then was, "When will hairst-time come, the gloaming o' the year?" Oh, hairst-time's like a lipping cup that's gi'en wi' furthy glee! The fields are fu' o' yellow corn, red apples bend the tree; The genty air, sae ladylike, has on a scented gown, And wi' an airy string she leads the thistle-seed balloon. The yellow corn will porridge mak', the apples taste your mou', And owre the stibble riggs I'll chase the thistle-down wi' you; I'll put the haw frae aff the thorn, the red hip frae the brier -- For wealth hangs in each tangled nook in the gloaming o' the year. Sweet hope! ye biggit ha'e a nest within my bairnie's breast -- Oh! may his trusting heart ne'er trow that whiles ye sing in jest; Some coming joys are dancing aye before his langing een -- He sees the flower that isna blawn, and birds that ne'er were seen; -- The stibble rigg is aye ahin'; the gowden grain afore; And apples drop into his lap, or row in at the door! Come, hairst-time, then, unto my bairn, drest in your gayest gear, Wi' saft and winnowing win's to cool the gloaming o' the year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIMON LEGREE: NEGRO SERMON; MEMORIAL TO BOOKER T. WASHINGTON by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY OZYMANDIAS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE COMPLAINT OF THE FAIR ARMOURESS by FRANCOIS VILLON ECHOES OF SPRING: 8 by MATHILDE BLIND IMPULSIVE DIALOGUE by MAXWELL BODENHEIM |