Tho Springtime gars the sna-bree rin
An sweet's the day, wi blossom bricht,
Oh yatterin peesie haud yer wheesht,
For as tae me is constant nicht.

Tho simmer turn the barley broon,
The sonsie heids I canna see,
For, thinkin on the braes o hame,
The brimmin tearlicht blins the ee.

Oh Autumn, hap yer winsome face,
An dinna shine yer favours here,
Till my fit's firm upon the heath,
Aa's waesome, dreich an drear.

The Shiftin Seasons are as ain,
Cauld Winter iver follows me,
Fur Simmer is the ae dear place,
The bonnie banks o Dee.