Роберт Бернс (Robert Burns)

Where Are the Joys

WHERE are the joys I hae met in the morning,
  That danced to the lark’s early sang?
Where is the peace that awaited my wand’ring,
  At evening the wild woods amang?

No more a-winding the course of yon river,
  And marking sweet flow’rets so fair:
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,
  But sorrow and sad sighing care.

Is it that summer’s forsaken our valleys,
  And grim, surly winter is near?
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses
  Proclaim it the pride of the year.

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,
  Yet long, long too well have I known:
All that has caus’d this wreck in my bosom,
  Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
  Nor hope dare a comfort bestow:
Come, then, enamour’d and fond of my anguish,
  Enjoyment I’ll seek in my woe.

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