Wee LeslieAnn, my bonny lass
Face of finest, rosy glass
Curls of silk, or satin thread
So soft, so light, so fine, so red
How old are ye, my rosy lass?
Ye are but two? Ah, me, alas!
If ye were but twenty and two
Why, lass, I think I’d marry you.

by Sophia White

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