The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/O May, thy Morn
O MAY, THY MORN.
O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet,As the mirk night o' December;For sparkling was the rosy wine,And private was the chamber:And dear was she I dare na name,But I will aye remember.And dear, etc.
And here's to them, that, like oursel,Can push about the jorum;And here's to them that wish us weel,May a' that's guid watch o'er them;And here's to them we dare na tell,The dearest o' the quorum.And here's to, etc.