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

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.