 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
SWEET FA'S THE EVE
I
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.
II
I see the flowers and spreading trees,I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And Care his bosom is wringing?
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III
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.
IV
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.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |