I CANNA, winna cloak the fact -- Tho' sairly to my shame it's spoken -- On Sunday gane -- immodest act -- Wi' Cupid I'd a lively yokin'. To kirk I gaed in high resolve To weld my fancy wi' the sermon; Lat naething else my thochts involve, Nor hear, nor see, but Dr. Hermon. But Dauvit's hymn was jimply read, When @3bang@1 a dart gaed thro' my waistcoat -- A lass afore me turn'd her head, Her charmin' face I gat a glisk o't; It set my being a' alowe, An' a' day lang that face seem'd bent on's; Lat Doctor Hermon rant's he dow, I couldna catch a single sentence. His ilka lang-drawn metaphor Seem'd but word-etchin's o' her features, An' in the pulpit, smitsome fair, I saw @3her@1 face instead the preacher's; When praises well'd frae every heart, I heard but ae sweet voice afore me; An' when we kneel'd, as when we sate, Her roguish een were beamin' o'er me. By conscience thrice I felt rebuk'd, An' thrice I made renew'd endeavour; Towards the preacher firmly look'd, Determin'd on improved behaviour; But a' was faucht to nae avail, For lood as conscience lik'd to faut me, I couldna help my sinfu' sel', Wi' twa sic een aye lookin' at me. As hame I hied the birdies sang -- "A bonnie lassie! bonnie lassie!" I saw her cheeks the briers amang, I saw her in the very causey. When mither speir'd me for the text, Quo' I, "'twas in the books o' Moses." "The @3words?@1" quo' she. I answer'd next -- "Oh! -- sky-blue een an' cheeks o' roses!" Ah! roguie Love, yer fu' o' pranks, Nor wait for time an' place befittin'; Ye smit the sodger in the ranks, The merchant owre the ledger sittin'. But hear me, lad -- a victim flytes -- As ye regaird yer reputation, Employ the week as fancy dites, But cease your Sabbath descration! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWILIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO THE DANDELION by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL OZYMANDIAS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ELEGIAC SONNET: 44. WRITTEN IN THE CHURCH YARD AT MIDDLETON IN SUSSEX by CHARLOTTE SMITH THE MYSTIC by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY UNTO US A CHILD IS BORN by AGNES H. BEGBIE SUBWAY by CLARA EXLINE BOCKOVEN TO ROBERT BURNS; AN EPISTLE ON INSTINCT by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |