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Allan Cunningham (Аллен Каннингем) * * * The sun rises bright in France, And fair sets he; But he has tint the blythe blink he had In my ain countree. O, it 's nae my ain ruin That saddens aye my e'e, But the dear Marie I left behin' Wi' sweet bairnies three. My lanely hearth burn'd bonnie, And smiled my ain Marie; I've left a' my heart behin' In my ain countree. The bud comes back to summer, And the blossom to the bee; But I'll win back, O never, To my ain countree. O, I am leal to high Heaven, Where soon I hope to be, An' there I'll meet ye a' soon Frae my ain countree! Allan Cunningham's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1276 |
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