Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/401



plante there is of the deidliest pouir Quhilk flourischis deeply in the hert; Its lang rutis creip and fald outoure Ilka vive and breathen part: Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown.

Blak is the sap of its baleful stem, Lyk funeral blicht its leavis do fal; In its moistoure is quenchit luve's pure flame, It drappis rust on inmost saul: Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon, Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown.

Evir it flourischis meikel and hie, Nae stay, nae hindraunce will it bruik; In ae nicht sprynging up, a burdlie tree, Schedding its bale at ae single luik: Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon, Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown.