Explore "My ain, ain Lass" by Helen Gray Cone on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
OBERON
SPRIGS O' HEATHER
I'm fain for toys o' Fortune whyles; / I hae no hate for ranks and styles; / But lairdship o' the braw blue isles / I'd e'en let pass / For are o' her fine tremblin' smiles- / My ain, ain lass!
I aiblins dream on days to be, / An' feel my heart leap out a wee; / But friendly Fate can grant nae fee / Could e'er surpass / Her e'en, sae dark wi' luve to me- / My ain, ain lass!
Whyles, gray and ghaistly, by me stand / Auld memories in an eerie band; / But swift as prints on slidin' sand / Sic phantoms pass, / If sae I baud her warm, warm hand, / My ain, ain lass!
The past she sweetens through and through, / An', far as heaven, the future too; / For, surely, as her dear soul's due, / They'll let me pass! / Wi'out me there what wad she do, / My ain, ain lass?