Poem by Robert Burns

Epitaph on the Poet’s Daughter

HERE lies a rose, a budding rose,
  Blasted before its bloom;
Whose innocence did sweets disclose
  Beyond that flower’s perfume.

To those who for her loss are grieved,
  This consolation’s given-
She’s from a world of woe relieved,
  And blooms a rose in heaven.

1. Sleep’st Thou, or Wak’st Thou
2. Simmer’s a Pleasant Time
3. It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonnie Face
4. The Bonnie Wee Thing
5. Castle Gordon

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