The Winter It Is Past Poem by Robert Burns

The Winter It Is Past



THE WINTER it is past, and the summer comes at last
And the small birds, they sing on ev'ry tree;
Now ev'ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.


The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
But my true love is parted from me.

Saturday, October 25, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: winter
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Robert Burns

Robert Burns

Ayrshire / Scotland
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