Of a' the Airts

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
   I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,
   The lassie I lo'e best.
There wild woods grow and rivers row,
   And monie a hill between;
But day and night my fancy's flight
   Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers;
   I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds;
   I hear her charm the air.
There's not a bonie flower that springs
   By fountain, shaw, or green;
There's not a bonie bird that sings,
   But minds me o' my Jean.