OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
   I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
   The lassie I lo'e best: 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 
   And monie a hill between; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 
   Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 
   I see her sweet and fair: 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
   I hear her charm the air: 
There 's not a bonnie flower that springs 
   By fountain, shaw, or green; 
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings, 
   But minds me o' my Jean.