Fragment—Her Flowing Locks

     Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
     Adown her neck and bosom hing;
     How sweet unto that breast to cling,
     And round that neck entwine her!

     Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
     O' what a feast her bonie mou'!
     Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
     A crimson still diviner!