148. To Miss Logan, With Beattie's Poems

AGAIN the silent wheels of time
Their annual round have driven,
And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime,
Are so much nearer Heaven.


No gifts have I from Indian coasts
The infant year to hail;
I send you more than India boasts,
In Edwin's simple tale.


Our sex with guile, and faithless love,
Is charg'd, perhaps too true;
But may, dear maid, each lover prove
An Edwin still to you.

by Robert Burns

Comments (10)

James Beattie's work 'The Minstrel' or The Progress of Genius' with it's character, Edwin.
Our with guile, and faithless love, Is charg'd, perhaps too true; But may, dear maid, each lover prove An Edwin still to you. Robert Burns WHAT MORE OF SEXLESS BUT HARD CAN EVER BE SO TRUE BURNS THE FIRE INSIDE ONLY BURNS U COULD DO THE MAID MUST STILL BE SMOLDERING WITHIN YEARS OF AGEING
Silent wheels of time! ! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
'AGAIN the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driven, '....Beautiful lines!
faithless love, Is charg'd, perhaps too true; But may, dear maid, each lover prove An Edwin still to you. a very good poem. tony
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