Ye sunny braes that skirt the Clyde
Wi' simmer flowers sae braw,
There's ae sweet flower on Levern side,
That's fairer than them a':
Yet aye it droops its head in wae,
Regardless o' the sunny ray,
And Wastes its sweets frae day to day,
Beside the lonely shaw;
Wi' leaves a' steep'd in sorrow's dew,
Fause, cruel man, it seems to rue,
Wha aft the sweetest flower will pu',
Then rend its heart in twa.

Thou bonny flow'r on Levern side,
O gin thou'lt be but mine;
I'll tend thee wi' a lover's pride,
Wi' love that ne'er shall tine;
I'll take thee to my shelt'ring bower,
And shield thee frae the beating shower,
Unharm'd by ought thou'lt bloom secure
Frae a' the blasts that blaw:
Thy charms surpass the crimson dye
That streaks the glowing western sky,
But here, unshaded, soon thou'lt die,
And lone will be thy fa'.