Saft fa's the sun on Anwoth Hills
When simmer smiles an' a' is fair;
But what is licht to them or me,
When she I lo'e is bidin' there?
The licht that's in her bonnie een
Is mair than simmer unto me;
Sweet Jenny, pride o' Anwoth Hills,
The Lily o' the Banks o' Cree.
When morning o'er the Solway breaks
In purple smiles, and seas and skies
Touch each in love, and earth again
Becomes a balmy paradise;
A dearer licht to me than a'
Is that which beams frae Jenny's ee;
Sweet Jenny, pride o' Anwoth Hills,
The Lily o' the Banks o' Cree.
Fu' bonnilie in Kirkdale glen
The primrose peeps frae grassy nook,
An' modestly the violet blows,
As if afraid to meet your look;
But fairer far than ony flower,
By wimplin' burn or grassy lea,
Is Jenny, pride o' Anwoth Hills,
The Lily o' the Banks o' Cree.