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Scottish Valentine Prose

For Valentine's Day we wanted to share some of the great love poems by great Scottish writers including Robert Louis Stevenson, Robert Burns, and Sir Walter Scott.

ROMANCE

      Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night
      I will make a palace fit for you and me,
      Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.

      I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,
      Where white flows the river and bright blows the
      And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white
      In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.

      And this shall be for music when no one else is near,
      The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
      That only I remember, that only admire,
      Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.

      Robert Louis Stevenson
      (1850-1894)

MY LUVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE

      0, my luve's like a red, red rose,
      That's newly sprung in June,
      0, my luve's like the melodie
      That's sweetly played in tune.

      As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
      So deep in luve am I,
      And I will luve thee still, my dear,
      Till a' the sea gang dry.

      Till a' the sea gang dry
      And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
      And I will luve thee still, my dear,
      While the sands o' life shall run.

      And fare thee weel, my only luve,
      And fare thee weel a while!
      And I will come again, my luve,
      Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

      Robert Burns
      (1759-1796)

A RONDEL OF LOVE
      Learn ye, that list to prove
      Be me, I say, that no ways may
      The ground of grief remove,
      But sfill decay, both nicht and day:
      Lo! what it is to love.

      Love is ane fervent fire,
      Kindlit withiut desire:
      Short pleasure, lang displeasure;
      Repentance is the hire:
      Ane poor treasure without measure:
      Love is ane fervent fire.

      To love and to be wise,
      To rage with good advice,
      Now thus, now than, so goes the game.
      Incertain is the dice.
      There is no man, I say, that can
      Both love and to be wise.

      Flee always from the snare;
      Learn at me to beware;
      It is ane pain and double train
      Of endless woe and care;
      For to refrain that danger plain,
      Flee always from the snare.

      Sir Walter Scott
      (Fl. 1547-1584)


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