Page:Posthumous poems (IA posthumousswinb00swin).pdf/88

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WEARIESWA'

The wind wears ower the Wearieswa'
To the right and the left hand;
The wind wears ower by the Wearieswa'
And under by the sea-sand.

Every bolt in Wearieswa'
Wi' siller was it sparred;
Every gate in Wearieswa'
Wi' red gold was it barred.

Every window in Wearieswa'
It was hasped in nickal keen;
Every bower in Wearieswa'
It was set wi' rushes clean.

There wonneth a woman in the Wearieswa',
A strong spell is her upon;
He that shall kiss her mouth for love
Of his life he is fordone.

There is nae man made of a woman
As the grass grows and the corn,
But gin he have kissed that lady's mouth
Of his lips he is forlorn.

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