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!