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HAIRST, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Tho' weel I lo'e the budding spring, I'll no misca' john frost
Last Line: Wi' saft and winnowing win's to cool the gloaming o' the year.
Alternate Author Name(s): Laureate Of The Nursery
Subject(s): Spring


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.





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