Here's one stanza from a Burns' poem posted elsewhere in the forums.
Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed through the lighted ha'
To thee my fancy took its wing
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Though this was fair and that was braw
And yon the toast of a the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a',
'Ye are na Mary Morison.'


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