Robert Burns, 1793
Where are the joys I have met in the morning,|
That danc'd to the lark's early song?
Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring,
At evening the wild-woods among?
2. No more a winding the course of yon river,
3. Is it that Summer's forsaken our valleys,|
And grim, surly Winter is near?
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses
Proclaim it the pride of the year.
4. Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,
5. Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,|
Nor Hope dare a comfort bestow:
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.
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