My Jean

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And monie a hill between,

But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers—

I see her sweet and fair.

I hear her in the tunefu' birds—

I hear her charm the air.

There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green;

There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.