Oh happy is that man an' blest ! Nae wonder that it pride him ! Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, comes clinking' down beside him ! Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back, he sweetly does compose him; Which by degrees slips round her neck, an's loof upon her bosom, Unken'd that day...

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
En-wrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet;
But I, 
Being poor,
Have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Please:
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...