Winter winds cold and blea
Chilly blows o'er the lea:
Wander not out to me,
Jenny so fair,
Wait in thy cottage free.
I will be there.
Wait in they cushioned chair
Wi' thy white bosom bare.
Kisses are sweetest there:
Leave it for me.
Free from the chilly air
I will meet thee.
How sweet can courting prove,
How can I kiss my love
Muffled in hat and glove
From the chill air?
Quaking beneath the grove,
What love is there!
Lay by thy woolen vest,
Drape no cloak o'er thy breast:
Where my hand oft hath pressed,
Pin nothing there:
Where my head droops to rest,
Leave its bed bare.
(Kind of scandalous for an 18th century English poet, but no more so than
Song of Solomon and some parts of Proverbs. )
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