OF a’ the airts 1 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 ’s 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 of my Jean.