Green grow the rashes , O; Green grow the rashes , O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses, O. There's nought but care on ev'ry han' , In ev'ry hour that passes, O: What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. The war'ly race may riches chase, - An' riches still may fly them, O; An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. But gie me a cannie hour at e'en , My arms about my dearie, O; An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie , O! For you sae douce , ye sneer at this; Ye're nought but senseless asses, O: The wisest man the warl' e'er saw , He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O: Her prentice han' she try'd on man, An' then she made the lasses, O. Green grow the rashes , O; Green grow the rashes , O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses, O.
Today is Robert Burns Day! Robert Burns, the great poet of Scotland, born this day in 1759. I love his work dearly, and this particular poem, “Green Grow the Rashes O”, is likely my favorite.
For more on him, read Sheila O’Malley. Failing that, read some Burns!