Robert Burns, 1794
How lang and dreary is the night|
When I am frae my Dearie;
I restless lie frae e'en to morn
Though I were ne'er sae weary.
For oh, her lanely nights are lang!
And oh, her dreams are eerie;
And oh, her window'd heart is sair,
That's absent frae her Dearie!
2. When I think on the lightsome days|
I spent wi' thee, my Dearie;
And now what seas between us roar,
How can I be but eerie?
3. How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
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