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No flower of her kindred—no rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh.

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one, to pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping, go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves o’er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow when friendships decay,
And from love’s shining circle the gems drop away.
When true hearts lie wither’d, and fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would "inhabit this bleak world alone?


A bonnie wee rosebud grows down by yon burnie,
A bonnie wee rosebud as e’er you did see;
Wi’ salt silken leaves, underneath a green thornie:
O spare the wee rosebud! O spare it for me!
The redbreast sings wanton around this sweet posie,
Fond, fond to make love doth the wee birdie flee.
Sure nane’d be sae cruel as steal frae my breastie,
This bonnie wee rosebud—O spare it for me!