Afton Water
Flow
gently,
sweet
Afton,
among
thy
green
braes,
Flow
gently,
I'll
sing
thee
a
song
in
thy
praise;
My
Mary's
asleep
by
thy
murmuring
stream,
Flow
gently,
sweet
Afton,
disturb
not
her
dream.
Thou
stock-dove,
whose
echo
resounds
thro'
the
glen,
Ye
wild
whistling
blackbirds
in
yon
thorny
den,
Thou
green-creste
d
lapwing,
thy
screaming
forbear,
I
charge
you
disturb
not
my
slumbering
fair.
How
lofty,
sweet
Afton,
thy
neighbouring
hills,
Far
mark'd
with
the
courses
of
clear
winding
rills;
There
daily
I
wander
as
noon
rises
high,
My
flocks
and
my
Mary's
sweet
cot
in
my
eye.
How
pleasant
thy
banks
and
green
valleys
below,
Where
wild
in
the
woodlands
the
primroses
blow;
There
oft,
as
mild
Ev'ning
sweeps
over
the
lea,
The
sweet-scente
d
birk
shades
my
Mary
and
me.
Thy
crystal
stream,
Afton,
how
lovely
it
glides,
And
winds
by
the
cot
where
my
Mary
resides,
How
wanton
thy
waters
her
snowy
feet
lave,
As
gathering
sweet
flowrets
she
stems
thy
clear
wave.
Flow
gently,
sweet
Afton,
among
thy
green
braes,
Flow
gently,
sweet
river,
the
theme
of
my
lays;
My
Mary's
asleep
by
thy
murmuring
stream,
Flow
gently,
sweet
Afton,
disturb
not
her
dream.