Poem by Robert Burns

On Chloris Being Ill

  LONG, long the night,
    Heavy comes the morrow,
  While my soul’s delight
    Is on her bed of sorrow.

Can I cease to care,
  Can I cease to languish,
While my darling fair
  Is on the couch of anguish?

Every hope is fled,
  Every fear is terror;
Slumber e’en I dread,
  Every dream is horror.

Hear me, Pow’rs divine!
  Oh, in pity hear me!
Take aught else of mine,
  But my Chloris spare me!

1. The Day Returns
2. Lines Written under the Picture of Miss Burns
3. Peg-A-Ramsey
4. To a Young Lady, Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with Books which the Bard Presented her
5. My Wife’s a Winsome Wee Thing

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