
Robert Burns, 1793
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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, |
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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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