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Robert Burns (Роберт Бёрнс)


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I DO confess thou art sae fair,
  I wad been o’er the lugs in love;
Had I not found the slightest prayer
  That lips could speak thy heart could move.

I do confess thee sweet, but find
  Thou art sae thriftless o’ thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind
  That kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rose-bud rich in dew,
  Amang its native briers sae coy,
How soon it tines its scent and hue
  When pu’d and worn a common toy!

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,
  Tho’ thou may gaily bloom a while;
Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside,
  Like ony common weed and vile.



Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Verses to a Young Lady, Miss Graham of Fintry, with a Present of Songs
  2. On Maria
  3. O Steer Her Up
  4. Frae the Friends and Land I Love
  5. Young Jamie, Pride Of A’ the Plain


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