Benalla
A country lass with rosy cheeks,
A healthy maid with merry ways;
Labor 'mid loveliness she seeks,
And strives to crowd with joy her days.
For she was raised upon a farm;
Upon a farm she grew in grace,
And in that clear air won this charm,
This sweet allure of form and face.
Where she had won the art to grow,
About her house, about her door,
Such loveliness as these days show,
Ask of the years that went before.
But learn she did, as scenes attest
By tree-girt lawn and flowery way,
Even her bridge-heads flank some nest
Of nodding roses, richly gay.
Beyond her home the wheatlands roll,
To yield their tithes upon her dower;
Yet, 'spite her soft, aesthetic soul,
She gives not all to field and flower.
For, show the lass a well-set horse;
Show her a dog with grace or speed;
Set her upon some sunlit course,
And she knows full content indeed.
A country lass with rosy cheeks,
Deft and delightful, who can be
A hostess rare to one who seeks
Her kindly hospitality.
And here she reigns, a queen indeed,
About her flowery realm to ride,
Mounted upon a well-bred steed,
A good hound trotting by her side.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
Lass That Made the Bed to Me, The
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
I knew na whare to lodge till day:
By my gude luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care,
And Kindly she did me invite
To walk into a chamber fair.
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
An bade her make a bed to me;
She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi' twa white hands she spread it doun;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
And drank - "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."
Chorus - The bonie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me,
I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me.
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again,
To lay some mair below my head:
A cod she laid below my head,
And served me with due respect,
And, to salute her wi' a kis,
I put my arms about her neck.
Chorus: -...
"Haud aff your hands, young man! she said,
"And dinna sae uncivil be;
Gif ye hae ony luve for me,
O wrang ma my virginitie."
Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie,
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
Her bosom was the driven snaw,
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
The lass that made the bed to me.
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again,
And aye she wist na what to say:
I laid her 'tween me and the wa';
The lassie thocht na lang till day.
Chorus: -...
Upon the morrow when we raise,
I thank'd her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush'd and aye she sigh'd,
And said, "Alas, ye've ruin'd me."
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e;
I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,
For ye aye shall make the bed to me."
Chorus: - ...
She took her mither's holland sheets,
An' made them a' in sarks to me;
Blythe and merry may she be,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
poem by Robert Burns
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The Lass That Made the Bed to Me
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
I knew na whare to lodge till day:
By my gude luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care,
And Kindly she did me invite
To walk into a chamber fair.
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
An bade her make a bed to me;
She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi' twa white hands she spread it doun;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
And drank - "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."
Chorus - The bonie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me,
I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me.
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again,
To lay some mair below my head:
A cod she laid below my head,
And served me with due respect,
And, to salute her wi' a kis,
I put my arms about her neck.
Chorus: -...
"Haud aff your hands, young man! she said,
"And dinna sae uncivil be;
Gif ye hae ony luve for me,
O wrang ma my virginitie."
Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie,
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
Her bosom was the driven snaw,
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
The lass that made the bed to me.
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again,
And aye she wist na what to say:
I laid her 'tween me and the wa';
The lassie thocht na lang till day.
Chorus: -...
Upon the morrow when we raise,
I thank'd her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush'd and aye she sigh'd,
And said, "Alas, ye've ruin'd me."
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e;
I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,
For ye aye shall make the bed to me."
Chorus: - ...
She took her mither's holland sheets,
An' made them a' in sarks to me;
Blythe and merry may she be,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
poem by Robert Burns
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He’s Gone to England for a Wife
HE’S GONE to England for a wife
Among the ladies there;
And yet I know a lass he deemed
The rarest of the rare.
He’s gone to England for a wife;
And rich and proud is he.
But he was poor and toiled for bread
When first he courted me.
He said I was the best on earth;
He said I was “his life”;
And now he thinks of noble birth,
And seeks a lady wife!
He said for me alone he’d toil
To win an honest fame;
But now no lass on southern soil
Is worthy of his name!
I think I see his lady bride,
A fair and faultless face,
And nothing in her heart beside
The empty pride of race.
And she will grace his gilded home,
The wife his gold shall buy;
But will she ever dream of him,
Or love as well as I?
poem by Henry Lawson
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Bright
Where Feathertop frowns thro' the winter scud,
Where Buffalo broods on high,
Dwells she, a lass of royal blood,
And a sparkle lights her eye
The clear, clean glint of the sun on snow,
Where the small streams, singing down,
Into the golden Ovens flow,
To decorate her town.
Wild was she on an olden day
And a wilful lass, forsooth,
When the rough, tough diggers came her way
Ere she emerged from youth.
From her river flats they dredged the gold
And laid sad waste to these,
While they drove in thousands from their fold
The thrifty, scared Chinese.
Waxing in beauty, she has grown
To a maid of wide renown;
For the wild, swift days have long since flown.
Now, by her tree-girt town,
Where her plaited river murmuring flows
Thro' sylvan scenes and rare,
A maiden clad in beauty goes
To her hop-fields gleaming there.
Yet men still scheme to dredge these fields,
And filch their loveliness,
All for the sake of bigger yields
In gold, that count far less
Than the rare, rich harvests won today
In calm security.
Leaving but ruin and decay
To sad posterity.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass
Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie lass
She is walking through the grass
With the wind blowing in her hair,
She is looking for the man
She calls her own and take his hand
But sadly, he is never ever there,
As she is heading back home
And again she is all alone
As again GOD had ignored her thoughts,
But sadly no one does care
What she is doing over there
As she’ll never find, what she had sought.
Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie lass
Whom I had just past
As I shied away from happily,
I have known of her before
As she had knocked upon my door
But now the door is shut and I am free,
As it was not that long ago
When she filled my heart with woe
Then threw my heart and life away,
As she smiled as though she cared
But never worried how I had faired
And goodbye to me she never did say.
Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass
Love for you it never did last
And your hopes and dreams are now all gone,
Someday though you will get old
And you will be standing all alone
As you will be walking upon your lawn,
You will be seeking someone new
So you can say again, I love you
As your walking down life’s final path,
But no one will ever be there
As the winds blows though your hair
My Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass.
poem by Randy McClave
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If I Were a Queen
Three lasses in the evening dresses
were dreaming near the fire place.
With such a grace the first lass said:
If I were a queen I would weave a beautiful carpet
you had never seen before
and much much more.
I would like to confess, - said the second lass,
If I were a queen,
I would dance and sing for my king.”
If I were a queen, - said the third one,
I would give birth to five sons,
our life could be such a fun.
The moral of this fable:
Any lass is able
to become an enchantress
if she is loved by a king.
She can dance and sing,
she can move mountains,
make beautiful fountains,
fill the world with flowers
if she gets a queen’s powers.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
November the 8th,2010
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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For A' That
Tho' women's minds, like winter winds,
May shift, and turn, an' a' that,
The noblest breast adores them maist-
A consequence I draw that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
But there is ane aboon the lave,
Has wit, and sense, an' a' that;
A bonie lass, I like her best,
And wha a crime dare ca' that?
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
In rapture sweet this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love an' a' that,
But for how lang the flie may stang,
Let inclination law that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft.
They've taen me in, an' a' that;
But clear your decks, and here's-"The Sex!"
I like the jads for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Here's to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen
Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
Here's to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.
Chorus
Let the toast pass,--
Drink to the lass,
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize;
Now to the maid who has none, sir:
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Chorus
Let the toast pass,--
Drink to the lass,
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow;
Now to her that's as brown as a berry:
Here's to the wife with her face full of woe,
And now to the damsel that's merry.
Chorus
Let the toast pass,--
Drink to the lass,
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And let us e'en toast them together.
Chorus
Let the toast pass,--
Drink to the lass,
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
poem by Richard Brinsley Sheridan
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A Farm House by the River
I know a little country place
Where still my heart doth linger,
And o'er its fields is every grace
Lined out by memory's finger.
Back from the lane where poplars grew
And aspens quake and quiver,
There stands all bath'd in summer's glow
A farm house by the river.
Its eaves are touched with golden light
So sweetly, softly shining,
And morning glories full and bright
About the doors are twining.
And there endowed with every grace
That nature's hand could giver her,
There lived the angel of the place
In the farm house by the river.
Her eyes were blue, her hair was gold,
Her face was bright and sunny;
The songs that from her bosom rolled
Were sweet as summer's honey.
And I loved her well, that maid divine,
And I prayed the Gracious Giver,
That I some day might call her mine
In the farm house by the river.
Twas not to be - but God knows best.
His will for aye be heeded!
Perhaps amid the angels' bliss,
My little love was needed.
Her spirit from its thralldom torn
Went singing o'er the river,
And that sweet life my heart shall mourn
Forever and forever.
She dies one morn at early light
When all the birds are singing,
And Heaven itself in pure delight
Its bells of joy seemed ringing.
They laid her dust where soon and late
The solemn grasses quiver,
And left alone and desolate
The farm house by the river.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Bonnie Lass of Albanie
My heart is wae, and unco wae,
To think upon the raging sea,
That roars between her gardens green,
An' th' bonnie lass of ALBANIE. -
This lovely maid's of nobel blood,
That ruled Albion's kingdoms three;
But Oh, Alas! for her bonie face,
They hae wrang'd the lass of ALBANIE.
In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde,
There sits an isle of high degree,
And a town of fame whose princely name,
Should grace the lass of ALBANIE.
But there's a youth, a witless youth,
That fills the place where she should be;
We'll send him o'er to his native shore,
And bring our ain sweet ALBANIE.
Alas the day, and woe the day,
A false Usurper wan the gree,
Who now commands the towers and lands -
The royal right of ALBANIE.
We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray,
On bended knees most fervently,
That the time may come, with pipe an' drum,
We'll welcome hame fair ALBANIE.
poem by Robert Burns (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Take Me To Gretna
Give me a horse, a fine young horse,
A charger built for speed
And to Gretna, you and I will ride,
Upon this chestnut steed.
My lass, I’ve loved you summer long,
Though twenty more you’ve lived
And to the wind, my wealth I’ll cast
If your love you’d only give.
poem by Paul Colvin
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Handsome Nell
O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass,
Aye, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast
I'll love my handsome Nell.
As bonnie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw,
But for a modest gracefu' mien
The like I never saw.
A bonnie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the ee,
But without some letter qualities
She's no a lass for me.
But Nellie's looks are blithe and sweet,
And what is best of a'
Her reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.
She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;
And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.
A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart,
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.
'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.
poem by Robert Burns
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The Little Lass
As Douglas to his castle came,
Emotion nerved his shatter'd frame,
And soft he pondered,—"Presently
My little lass will welcome me!
"As longs the miser for his gold,
As fever longs, with thirst untold,
So yearns my heart her face to see,
Who yonder waits to welcome me!"
But as he turned his steed about,
A mournful peal of bells rung out;
Whereat he cried,—"Nay, merrily!
Ring forth my bairn to welcome me!"
He entered at the castle gate;
(None marked him come, for it grew late,)
He stood within his hall at last;
(None heeded him, for tears fell fast.)
Quoth Douglas: "Friends, if me ye mourn,
With drooping heads and looks forlorn,
Now for your sorrows comfort ye,—
And call my lass to welcome me!
"'T is true that I from out these wars
Bring back a wound and many scars;
But life is mine, and I am free,
And my brave lass hath ransom'd me!"
Up spoke an ancient servitor:
"We mourn indeed the wrongs of war,
We bless thy loved return,— but she
Shall rise no more to welcome thee!"
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Rosy Hannah
A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r,
The grey sand dancing in its bed,
Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,
Sent forth its waters near my head:
A rosy Lass approach'd my view;
I caught her blue eye's modest beam:
The stranger nodded 'How d'ye do!'
And leap'd across the infant stream.
The water heedless pass'd away:
With me her glowing image stay'd.
I strove, from that auspicious day,
To meet and bless the lovely Maid.
I met her where beneath our feet
Through downy Moss the Wild-Thyme grew;
Nor Moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet,
Match'd Hannah's cheek of rosy hue.
I met her where the dark Woods wave,
And shaded verdure skirts the plain;
And when the pale Moon rising gave
New glories to her cloudy train.
From her sweet Cot upon the Moor
Our plighted vows to Heaven are flown;
Truth made me welcome at her door,
And rosy Hannah is my own.
poem by Robert Bloomfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Armour and Amor
Now listen to me now
And to me pay attention
Sometimes the course of love
Needs a mother's intervention
Now listen to my tale
How some Armour old and rusty
Led Lass to discover
Love deep and true and lusty
One day while cleaning house
Mom found a coat of Armour
She didn't want the dusty thing
To clutter up her parlor
She made Lass take it back
And thats how Lass met Laddy
He was a big improvement
Over Tom and Dick and Harry
It worked out for the best
And thus did Lass acquire
A true love who's a knight-
She didn't settle for his squire.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Emerald's & Diamond's [Reprise]
Lie down 'side me lass, in dark green meadows
Your blouse flouncing free in th' teasing breeze
The grass blades feel so cotton.....when we love
Lay beside me now......and feel my passion rise
Open field, honeysuckle sweet, annoints my yen
We search for clovered stems....in leaves of four
No cloud veils th' scape of choice to pleasure on
Again, I ask you lass, come lay you down, by me
Come close love...read my tell-tale emerald eyes
Smiling back into yo'r warm black diamond eyes
Take my hand lass, I vow to you on bended knee
That Emeralds and Diamonds....never fade away
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Beneath the cloy mountain grass
Oh come hither my lass to the hills
Where the valleys gorge calls out
And sing, dance and shout my love
For what this life is all about?
And if it isn't to be merry my love
And if it isn't to be glad;
Then bury me my bonny lass
Beneath the cloy mountain grass.
Oh come gather me in your arms my lass
Take me back to the sea and the stars
And if there's nothing shinning my love
Tarry with my heart in your lonesome arms
For the waters all around me love
Are deep and dark, and black
So if it isn't to be glad my lass
Bury me beneath the cloy mountain grass.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Dry Your Tears You Lass!
DRY YOUR TEARS YOU LASS!
Oh! You lonely heart
Sick on stone of love
Gaze million of love past
Through the gate of love heart
You! Lass of morrow joy
Weep in street of solitary way
Oh! Open white heart for new saviors pass
Soil opens the pregnant of land
For earthworm to burrow,
You are rose of Sharon,
You look like lily of a valley
As a lily among the bramble
Just like your love among lad,
Dry your tears young lass
Man is blow trumpet love to you
Our land whisper of joy to your side
African love lorn, dry your tragedy tears
Maker listens to your woeful ballad
You lass, let joy circulate your heart
Because your flower still fresh
poem by Olugbenga Ayoola.O
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My Dilemma!
You show me a cup of much-flavored wine,
That could inebriate senses divine,
You know that I never drink or I sip;
I ask Thee O God, ” Why tempt my poor lip? ”
You show me a diamond priceless I think,
When I cannot afford, crystals to wink;
The dazzling diamond does tempt me truly;
But how can it give me things heavenly?
You show me a damsel of great beauty;
Irresistible but I’ve my duty;
When I’m well-married, living with my wife,
Why show me ways to an adulterous life?
You show me a fountain spraying lovely;
A treat to gaze and drink from it surely;
The poor that I see can’t afford a drink;
They cannot bathe often and tend to stink.
You show me a tiger-cub to be pet;
What dangers lurk ahead, I can well bet;
A country dog’s enough to guard my house;
A Tiger-cub could make all matters worse.
You show me a palace I’ve never seen,
In a far-off country I’ve never been;
When I need only a plot in my town,
Why do you show me a castle to own?
You gave me talents many more than one;
You show me also the moon, stars and sun;
Help me to do my best in any field,
To temptations on earth, I’ll never yield.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-9-2000
poem by John Celes
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A Song
(Written By Saleem Mirza Translated By Muhammad shanazar)
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
This spacious yard and home of yours,
And all your delicacies are borrowed,
Your youth and beauties are to decay.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
Get rid of all misdeeds and profanities,
Fill your basket with scented flowers,
And add good acts in the scroll of deeds.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
Adopt the straight path of piety,
Recall the name of True Master, Almighty
And complain not speaking blasphemes.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
Be not proud of this breathing hut,
False it is to trust in the house of self,
On a certain day the roof will collapse.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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