Gie Me Ae Spark O'

Oh My Luve's Like A Red, Red Rose, That's Newly Sprung In June; Oh My Luve's Like The Melodie That's Sweetly Played In Tune.

I Look On The Opposite Sex With Something Like The Admiration With Which I Regard The Starry Sky On A Frosty December Night. I Admire The Beauty Of The Creator's Workmanship, I Am Charmed With The Wild But Graceful Eccentricity Of The Motions, And Then I Wish Both Of Them Goodnight.

The Great Creator To Revere Must Sure Become The Creature; But Still The Preaching Cant Forbear, And Ev'n The Rigid Feature: Yet Ne'er With Wits Profane To Range Be Complaisance Extended;an Atheist Laugh's A Poor Exchange For Deity Offended.

The Trout In Yonder Wimpling Burn - That Glides, A Silver Dart, - And, Safe Beneath The Shady Thorn, - Defies The Anglers Art.

O, My Luve Is Like A Red, Red Rose.