Binnorie

THERE were twa sisters sat in a bour;
   Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
   By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.

He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a thing.

The eldest she was vexed sair,
And sair envìed her sister fair.

Upon a morning fair and clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:

'O sister, sister tak my hand,
And let 's go down to the river-strand.'

She 's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river-strand.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Wife of Usher's Well

THERE lived a wife at Usher's well,
   And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
   And sent them o'er the sea.

They hadna been a week from her,
   A week but barely ane,
When word came to the carline wife
   That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
   A week but barely three,
When word came to the carline wife
   That her sons she'd never see.

'I wish the wind may never cease.
   Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
   In earthly flesh and blood!'

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Clerk Saunders

Whan bells war rung, an mass was sung,
A wat a' man to bed were gone,
Clark Sanders came to Margret's window,
With mony a sad sigh and groan.

"Are ye sleeping, Margret," he says,
"Or are ye waking, presentlie?
Give me my faith and trouthe again,
A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee."

"Your faith and trouth ye's never get,
Nor our trew love shall never twain,
Till ye come with me in my bower,
And kiss me both cheek and chin."

"My mouth it is full cold, Margret,
It has the smell now of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
Thy life-days will not be long.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Edward, Edward

'WHY does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
   Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
   And why sae sad gang ye, O?'
'O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
   Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
   And I had nae mair but he, O.'

'Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
   Edward, Edward;
Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
   My dear son, I tell thee, O.'
'O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed,
   Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed,
   That erst was sae fair and free, O.'

'Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,
   Edward, Edward;

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Braes o'Yarrow

Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
And ere they paid the lawing,
They set a combat them between,
To fight it in the dawing.

'What though ye be my sister's lord
We'll cross our swords to-morrow.'
'What though my wife your sister be,
I'll meet ye then on Yarrow.'

'O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!
O stay, my ain dear marrow!
My cruel brither will you betray
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.'

'O fare ye weel, my lady dear!
And put aside your sorrow;
For if I gae, I'll sune return
Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow.'

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Dowie Houms of Yarrow

LATE at een, drinkin' the wine,
   And ere they paid the lawin',
They set a combat them between,
   To fight it in the dawin'.

'O stay at hame, my noble lord!
   O stay at hame, my marrow!
My cruel brother will you betray,
   On the dowie houms o' Yarrow.'

'O fare ye weel, my lady gay!
   O fare ye weel, my Sarah!
For I maun gae, tho' I ne'er return
   Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow.'

She kiss'd his cheek, she kamed his hair,
   As she had done before, O;
She belted on his noble brand,
   An' he 's awa to Yarrow.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Phyllida's Love-Call

Phyllida. CORYDON, arise, my Corydon!
   Titan shineth clear.
Corydon. Who is it that calleth Corydon?
   Who is it that I hear?
Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee,
   Arise then, arise then,
   Arise and keep thy flock with me!
Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it she?
   I come then, I come then,
   I come and keep my flock with thee.

Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;
   Eat them for my sake.
Cor. Here 's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
   Sport for thee to make.
Phyl. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,
   To knit thee, to knit thee,
   A pair of stockings white as milk.
Cor. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat,
   To make thee, to make thee,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Creation of the Moon

The man cut his throat and left his head there.
The others went to get it.
When they got there they put the head in a sack.
Farther on the head fell out onto the ground.
They put the head back in the sack.
Farther on the head fell out again.
Around the first sack they put a second one that
was thicker.
But the head fell out just the same.
It should be explained that they were taking the head
to show to the others.
They did not put the head back in the sack.
They left it in the middle of the road.
They went away.

They crossed the river.
But the head followed them.
They climbed up a tree full of fruit
to see whether it would go past.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Old Cloak

THIS winter's weather it waxeth cold,
   And frost it freezeth on every hill,
And Boreas blows his blast so bold
   That all our cattle are like to spill.
Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;
   She said unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life!
   Man, put thine old cloak about thee!

He. O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?
   Thou kens my cloak is very thin:
It is so bare and over worn,
   A cricke thereon cannot renn.
Then I'll no longer borrow nor lend;
   For once I'll new apparell'd be;
To-morrow I'll to town and spend;
   For I'll have a new cloak about me.

She. Cow Crumbock is a very good cow:
   She has been always true to the pail;

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Thomas the Rhymer

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;
And there he saw a ladye bright
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett o' her horse's mane,
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
And louted low down on his knee
'Hail to thee Mary, Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth could never be.'

'O no, O no, Thomas' she said,
'That name does not belang to me;
I'm but the Queen o' fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!