Classic Poem

The flower of our valley Is the milkmaiden Sally
I've neer seen her equal before
She's as fine as wild roses And sweet as young posies
And my heart she would gi' me no more
One Sunday at noon She stole it all soon
And turned my hind part all before.

The woods fields and bushes And pasture all rushes
Seemed to stand somewhere else all the day
There was nought seemed the same Wheresoever I came
And I scarcely could find the old way
My hand leapin[g] in to her breast neath her chin
‘Good-morning’ was all she would say.

Her voice like the linnet had melody in it
Her eyes they were burning and bright
Though the sun fit to burn ye Hadn't done his journey
My dizziness took it for night
Her breasts in her gown like two snow hills looked down
And I sunk i' the drift out O' sight.

She's the flower of our Valley and her names pretty Sally
Her eye is so bright it would burn ye
My eyes were as straight As the best though I say't
Till I went wi' fair Sally loves journey
And if I get blind on't Herself shall be fined on't
So I'll go and seek up an Atorney.