WHEN rosy May comes in wi' flowers, <br />To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers, <br />Then busy, busy are his hours, <br />The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. <br /> <br /> <br />The crystal waters gently fa', <br />The merry bards are lovers a', <br />The scented breezes round him blaw— <br />The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. <br /> <br /> <br />When purple morning starts the hare <br />To steal upon her early fare; <br />Then thro' the dews he maun repair— <br />The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. <br /> <br /> <br />When day, expiring in the west, <br />The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, <br />He flies to her arms he lo'es the best, <br />The Gard'ner wi' his paidle.<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gardener-wi-his-paidle/
