Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!
Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
O, what a feast her bonnie mou'!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner.
Her Flowing Locks.
Robert Burns
(1)
Poem topics: raven, wing, sweet, celestial, crimson, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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