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Written In The Cottage Where Burns Was Born

Rating: 2.9

This mortal body of a thousand days
Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room,
Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays,
Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom!
My pulse is warm with thine old barley-bree,
My head is light with pledging a great soul,
My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see,
Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal;
Yet can I stamp my foot upon thy floor,
Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find

The meadow thou hast tramped o'er and o'er,--
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
daniel 07 June 2018

mighty superb you funky little cowboy....

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