(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

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.

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.