fragment—her flowing locks
    her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
    adown her neck and bosom hing;
    how sweet unto that breast to cling,
    and round that neck entwine her!
    her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
    o' what a feast her bonie mou'!
    her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
    a crimson still diviner!