fragment—her flowing locks
  her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
  adown her neck and bosom hing;
  how sweet unto that breast to cling,
  and round that neck entwine her!
  her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
  o' what a feast her bonie mou'!
  her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
  a crimson still diviner!