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James Whitcomb Riley - My Mary
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My Mary, O my Mary!
  The simmer-skies are blue;
The dawnin` brings the dazzle,
  An` the gloamin` brings the dew,--
The mirk o` nicht the glory
  O` the moon, an` kindles, too,
The stars that shift aboon the lift.--
  But nae thing brings me you!

Where is it, O my Mary,
  Ye are biding a` the while?
I ha` wended by your window--
  I ha` waited by the stile,
An` up an` down the river
  I ha` won for mony a mile,
Yet never found, adrift or drown`d,
  Your lang-belated smile.

Is it forgot, my Mary,
  How glad we used to be?--
The simmer-time when bonny bloomed
  The auld trysting-tree,--
How there I carved the name for you,
  An` you the name for me;
An` the gloamin` kenned it only
  When we kissed sae tenderly.

Speek ance to me, my Mary!--
  But whisper in my ear
As light as ony sleeper`s breath,
  An` a` my soul will hear;
My heart shall stap its beating
  An` the soughing atmosphere
Be hushed the while I leaning smile
  An` listen to you, dear!

My Mary, O my Mary!
  The blossoms bring the bees;
The sunshine brings the blossoms,
  An` the leaves on a` the trees;
The simmer brings the sunshine
  An` the fragrance o` the breeze,--
But O wi`out you, Mary,
  I care nae thing for these!

We were sae happy, Mary!
  O think how ance we said--
Wad ane o` us gae fickle,
  Or ane o` us lie dead,--
To feel anither`s kisses
  We wad feign the auld instead,
An` ken the ither`s footsteps
  In the green grass owerhead.

My Mary, O my Mary!
  Are ye daughter o` the air,
That ye vanish aye before me
  As I follow everywhere?--
Or is it ye are only
  But a mortal, wan wi` care?--
Syne I search through a` the kirkyird
  An` I dinna find ye there!
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