Robert Burns Poems

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SWEET fa’s the eve on Craigieburn,
And blythe awakes the morrow;
But a’ the pride o’ Spring’s return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.


I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And Care his bosom wringing!


Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer.


If thou refuse to pity me,
If thou shalt love another,
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
Around my grave they’ll wither.

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