On Turning One Down with the Plough in April, 1786

WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,
Thou ’s met me in an evil hour,
For I maun crush amang the stoure
        Thy slender stem;
To spare thee now is past my power,
        Thou bonny gem.

Alas! it ’s no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ’...