My Peggy's face
Robert Burns
1759 to 1796
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heav'nly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.
The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway?
Who but knows they all decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look, that rage disarms--
These are all immortal charms.
Robert Burns's My Peggy's face
I am busy working to bring Robert Burns's "My Peggy's face" to life through some unique musical arrangements and will have a full analysis of the poem here for you later.
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