Weekly Interlinear Poem




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Robert Jackson

This is the poem for the week of February 23.
A new interlinear poem is available each Monday.


"Green Grow the Rashes, O"


-Robert Burns


Chorus
Green grow the rashes, O;
rashes=rushes
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O.

1. There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
nought=nothing
han'=hand

In every hour that passes, O.
What signifies the life o' man
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
an' 'twere na=and it were not

2. The war'ly race may riches chase,
war'ly=worldly
An' riches still may fly them, O,
fly=fly from
An' tho' at last they catch them fast
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

3. But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
gie=give
cannie=quiet
e'en=evening

My arms about my dearie, O,
An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
a'=all
gae=go
tapsalteerie=topsy-turvy


4. For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
sae douce=so grave
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O.
nought=nothing
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw
warl'=world
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

5. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
auld=old
Her noblest work she classes, O:
classes=classifies
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
prentice han'=apprentice hand
An' then she made the lasses, O.





Chorus
Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O.

1. There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O.
What signifies the life o' man
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.

2. The war'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O,
An' tho' at last they catch them fast
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

3. But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

4. For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O.
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

5. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.



Listen to Charlie Zahm sing the poem: