When aince Aprile has fairly come, An' birds may bigg in winter's lum, An' pleisure's spreid for a' and some O' whatna state, Love, wi' her auld recruitin' drum, Than taks the gate. The heart plays dunt wi' main an' micht; The lasses' een are a' sae bricht, Their dresses are sae braw an' ticht, The bonny birdies! -- Puir winter virtue at the sicht Gangs heels ower hurdies. An' aye as love frae land to land Tirls the drum wi' eident hand, A' men collect at her command, Toun-bred or land'art, An' follow in a denty band Her gaucy standart. An' I, wha sang o' rain an' snaw, An' weary winter weel awa', Noo busk me in a jacket braw, An' tak my place I' the ram-stam, harum-scarum raw, Wi' smilin' face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD EVERYWHERE by ABRAHAM IBN EZRA ICED BRANCHES by KENNETH SLADE ALLING THE CARPERS (AN ASPECT) by WILLIAM ROSE BENET IN DER FREMDE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES WARNING AND REPLY by EMILY JANE BRONTE TWO WORLDS by EDWARD JAMES MORTIMER COLLINS |