Gree grew the rashes, O

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Gree grew the rashes, O (or "Green grew the rashes, O") is a poem bi Robert Burns, aboot the rashes an their beauty o whit he wis amoureus (in luv).

Lyrics[eedit | eedit soorce]

Gree Grow The Rashes, O

Owerwird

Gree grew the rashes, O;
Gree grew the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O.
1.
There's nocht but care on ev'ry han',
In every oor that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere nae for the lasses, O.
2.
The war'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly thaim, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy thaim, O.
3.
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
Ma airms aboot my dearie, O,
An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
4.
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;
Ye're nocht but senseless asses, O;
The wisest man the warld e'er saw,
He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O.
5.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest wark she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she trie'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.

Sangers[eedit | eedit soorce]

This song is sung bi Ewan MacColl in a greit version, an aloot o ither singers, even in ither leids.