The Gardener Wi’ his Paidle (Poem by Robert Burns)

Old Poem

The Gardener Wi’ his Paidle (1)
By Robert Burns


When rosy May comes in wi’ flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy are his hours — 
    The gard’ner wi’ his paidle
The crystal waters gently fa’;
The merry birds are lovers a’;
The scented breezes round him blaw — 
    The gard’ner wi’ his paidle.


The Gardener Wi’ his Paidle (2)


When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro’ the dews he maun repair — 
    The gard’ner wi’ his paidle.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws of nature’s rest,
He flies to her arms he lo’es best — 
    The gard’ner wi’ his paidle.

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