My love she's but a lassie yet,
A lightsome lovely lassie yet;
  It scarce wad do
  To sit an' woo
Down by the stream sae glassy yet.
But there's a braw time coming yet,
When we may gang a-roaming yet;
  An' hint wi' glee
  O' joys to be,
When fa's the modest gloaming yet.

She's neither proud nor saucy yet,
She's neither plump nor gaucy yet ;
  But just a jinking,
  Bonny blinking,
Hilty-skilty lassie yet.
But O her artless smile's mair sweet
Than hinny or than marmalete ;
  An' right or wrang,
  Ere it be lang,
I'll bring her to a parley yet.

I'm jealous o' what blesses her,
The very breeze that kisses her,
  The flowery beds
  On which she treads,
Though wae for ane that misses her.
Then O to meet my lassie yet,
Up in yon glen sae grassy yet;
  For all I see
  Are nought to me,
Save her that's but a lassie yet!