Classic Poem

The corn hangs heavy in the heid,
The moon shines clear abüne:
Twa lovers at their trystin' place
Think they maun reap an' binn.

His tender word: her witching glance —
The thing nae tongue may tell:
The luring stillness o' the nicht —
Wha may resist the spell!

Away among the yellow corn
They seek, and folded lie;
Whar Nature loves the likes o' them
And hears their hungry sigh.