WEE ELSIE

O’ a’ the bonny wee bit lasses That e’er I’ve kent, not ane surpasses My Elsie. An’ oh, she has sic denty ways, Auld farrant a’ she does and says; Just watch the bairnie as she plays “At mither,” dressed in mither’s claes! Like twa sweet rosebuds on ae stalk, Her lips part in her guileless talk; She hauds a key that wad unlock Yer heart were’t hard as granite rock. Sae fearless are her een o’ blue, They seem tae look ye through an’ through; But though sae brave, an’ frank, an’ true, Wi’ happy fun they’re brimmin’ fu’. Adoun her shoulders floats her hair, Sae long, sae silken, an’ sae fair,— In truth it seems a verra snare That’s caught an’ kept a sunbeam there. But better faur, those graces meet Aroun’ a nature just as sweet; Methinks the bairnie is complete Frae wise wee heed tae willin’ feet.