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Poem by Robert Burns * * * FORLORN, my love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I most repine, love. O wert thou, love, but near me, But near, near, near me; How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, love! Around me scowls a wintry sky, That blasts each bud of hope and joy; And shelter, shade, nor home have I, Save in those arms of thine, love. Cold alter’d friendship’s cruel part, To poison fortune’s ruthlees dart- Let me not break thy faithful heart, And say that fate is mine, love. But dreary tho’ the moments fleet, O let me think we yet shall meet! That only ray of solace sweet Can on thy Chloris shine, love. Robert Burns Robert Burns's other poems:
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