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. I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen
2. Blythe Was She
3. Farewell to Ballochmyle
4. Stay My Charmer
5. On a Bank of Flowers

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