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.
The Winter It Is Past
Robert Burns
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Poem topics: rose, running, sad, summer, tree, winter, small, clear, glad, true, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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