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Poem by Robert Burns * * * ‘I BURN, I burn, as when thro’ ripen’d corn By driving winds the crackling flames are borne.’ Now raving-wild, I curse that fatal night; Now bless the hour which charm’d my guilty sight. In vain the laws their feeble force oppose: Chain’d at his feet they groan, Love’s vanquish’d foes; In vain religion meets my sinking eye; I dare not combat-but I turn and fly; Conscience in vain upbraids th’ unhallow’d fire; Love grasps his scorpions-stifled they expire! Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne, Your dear idea reigns and reigns alone: Each thought intoxicated homage yields, And riots wanton in forbidden fields! By all on high adoring mortals know! By all the conscious villain fears below! By your dear self!-the last great oath I swear; Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear! Robert Burns Robert Burns's other poems:
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