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Poem by Robert Burns

Could Aught of Song

COULD aught of song declare my pains,
  Could artful numbers move thee,
The Muse should tell, in labourd strains,
  O Mary, how I love thee!

They who but feign a wounded heart
  May teach the lyre to languish;
But what avails the pride of art,
  When wastes the soul with anguish?

Then let the sudden bursting sigh
  The heart-felt pang discover;
And in the keen, yet tender eye,
  O read th imploring lover!

For well I know thy gentle mind
  Disdains arts gay disguising;
Beyond what fancy eer refind,
  The voice of nature prizing.

Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Stanzas on the Same Occasion
  2. Mark Yonder Pomp
  3. How Lang And Dreary
  4. My Chloris
  5. The Carles of Dysart

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