418. Song—O were my love you lilac fair

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 O WERE my love yon Lilac fair,
 Wi’ purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,
 When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn when it was torn
 By Autumn wild, and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
 When youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d.
O gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa’; And I myself a drap o’ dew, Into her bonie breast to fa’! O there, beyond expression blest, I’d feast on beauty a’ the night; Seal’d on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley’d awa by Phoebus’ light!

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