1

The rose of the morning, —
Is laden wi' dew;
But the rose o' the evening —
Is sweetest to view:
At the sweet hour o' sunset,
How lovely the gloaming;
To watch the young moon set, —
Wi' a sweet lassie roaming.

2

Then the thistles hangs cobwebs,
The wild brier its dew,
While the bee on the knob-weed —
Looks drowsily too; —
'Tis sweet at the sunset —
O'er the fields to be roaming,
And watch the bright moon set —
Wi' a lassie at gloaming;

3

How lovely the fields look
All beaded wi' dew
Sweet the grass in the bield-newk
Where the wren hides from view
Such scenes have a gem still
I love in the gloaming
On the green sward I would lie still
Or with a lassie be roaming.

4

If she talks very kind too,
How sweet is the weather:
When we both in a mind go; —
Out walking together;
The bird on its nest she,
Will praise, when we're roaming;
The flower I like best she,
Will take home at gloaming.

5

The rose of the morning,
Is laden wi' dew,
But the rose of the evening,
Is sweetest to view:
At the sweet hour o' sunset, —
How sweet in the gloaming;
To watch the young moon set,
Wi' a sweet lassie roaming.