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Poem by Robert Burns


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Now spring has clad the groves in green,
  And strewd the lea wi flowers;
The furrowd waving corn is seen
  Rejoice in fostering showers.
While ilka thing in nature join
  Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine
  The weary steps of woe!

The trout in yonder wimpling burn
  Glides swift, a silver dart,
And safe beneath the shady thorn
  Defies the anglers art:
My life was once that careless stream,
  That wanton trout was I;
But love, wi unrelenting beam,
  Has scorchd my fountain dry.

The little flowerets peaceful lot,
  In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnets flight, I wot,
  Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine; till love has oer me past,
  And blighted a my bloom;
And now beneath the withering blast
  My youth and joy consume.

The wakend lavrock warbling springs,
  And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings
  In mornings rosy eye;
As little reckt I sorrows power,
  Until the flowery snare
O witching love, in luckless hour,
  Made me the thrall o care.

O had my fate been Greenlands snows
  Or Africs burning zone,
Wi man and nature leagued my foes,
  So Peggy neer Id known!
The wretch whase doom is Hope nae mair!
  What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,
  Nae kinder spirits dwell.



                      Robert Burns


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


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