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.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills
Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills.
There daily I wander, as dawn 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 evening creeps over the lea
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me.
