O, My Luve Is Like A Red,

Their Sighing, Canting, Grace-proud Faces, Their Three-mile Prayers, And Half-mile Graces.

Or Like The Snow Falls In The River, A Moment White-then Melts For Ever . . .

How Wretched Is The Person Who Hangs On By The Favors Of The Powerful.

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.

She Is A Winsome Wee Thing, She Is A Handsome Wee Thing, She Is A Bonny Wee Thing, This Sweet Wee Wife O' Mine.