Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw,I dearly like the west,For there the bonie lassie lives,The lassie I lo’e best:
There’s wild-woods grow, and rivers row,And mony a hill between:But day and night my fancys’ flightIs 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 bonie flower that springs,By fountain, shaw, or green;There’s not a bonie bird that sings,But minds me o’ my Jean.