Poem by Robert Burns

The Winter It Is Past

THE winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last,
  And the small birds sing on every tree;
Now every thing is glad, while I am very sad,
  Since my true love is parted front me.

The rose upon the brier, by the waters running clear,
  May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
  But my true love is parted from me.

1. Their Groves O’ sweet Myrtle
2. The Bonnie Wee Thing
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. Stay My Charmer
5. The Humble Petition of Bruar Water

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