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Poem by Robert Burns


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O LASSIE art thou sleeping yet?
Or art thou wakin, I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot,
  And I would fain be in, jo.

    O let me in this ae night,
      This ae, ae, ae night;
    For pitys sake this ae night,
      O rise and let me in, jo.

Thou hearst the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro the driving sleet;
Tak pity on my weary feet,
  And shield me frae the rain, jo.

The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fas;
The cauldness o thy hearts the cause
  Of a my grief and pain, jo.

        HER ANSWER.

O TELL na me o wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi cauld disdain!
Gae back the gait ye cam again,
  I winna let you in, jo.

    I tell you now this ae night,
      This ae, ae, ae night;
    And ance for a this ae night,
      I winna let you in, jo.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hour,
That round the pathless wandrer pours,
Is nocbt to what poor she endures,
  Thats trusted faithless man, jo.

The sweetest flower that deckd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed;
Let simple maid the lesson read,
  The weird may be her ain, jo.

The bird that charmd his summer-day
Is now the cruel fowlers prey;
Let witless, trusting woman say
  How aft her fates the same, jo.



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Epitaph on a Henpecked Country Squire
  2. Verses Written Under Violent Grief
  3. Lines Written on a Pane of Glass in the Inn at Noffat
  4. Wandering Willie
  5. On Andrew Turner


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