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Poem by Robert Burns

On Chloris Being Ill

  LONG, long the night,
    Heavy comes the morrow,
  While my souls 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 een I dread,
  Every dream is horror.

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

                      Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Scroggam
  2. Lines Written on a Bank-note
  3. Lines Written at Loudon Manse
  4. To Alex Cunningham, Writer
  5. How Lang And Dreary

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