Classic Poem

When daylight is bidding bye And the green oats feel clammy to touch
True love gies a sweet o' the joy I care not but little or much
When the sun hides behind the grey willows And the green woods turn black i' the glen
When beauty goes sleep on her pillows I'll gang and see Bessey agen

The grey mist creeps o'er the valley The hue o' the grey willow row
The brook in its speed seems to dally And black is the bark o' the sloe
There's calmness below and above me The lovers star shines i' the glen
There's one in my eye that might love me So I'll go and see Bessie agen

There's love i' the calm o' the bushes The rush bed the leveret has prest
On their nests sit the blackbirds and thrushes The fire cloud streaks red i' the West
I' the oak by the road roosts the blue dove The moon mounts o'er woods i' the glen
I clap the gate ‘come to your true love’ And there I'll kiss Bessie agen.