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Robert Burns - Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green
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Now spring has clad the grove in green,
     And strew`d the lea wi` flowers;
The furrow`d, waving corn is seen
     Rejoice in fostering showers:
While ilka thing in nature join
     Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine
     The weary steps of woe?

The trout in yonder wimpling burn
     That glides, a silver dart,
And safe beneath the shady thorn
     Defies the angler`s art —
My life was ance that careless stream,
     That wanton trout was I;
But love, wi` unrelenting beam,
     Has scorch`d my fountains dry.

The little flow`ret`s peaceful lot,
     In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet`s flight, I wot,
     Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine; till love has o`er me past,
     And blighted a` my bloom,
And now beneath the with`ring blast
     My youth and joy consume.

The waken`d lav`rock warbling springs,
     And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blythe her dewy wings
     In morning`s rosy eye:
As little reckt I sorrow`s power,
     Until the flowery snare
O` witching love, in luckless hour,
     Made me the thrall o` care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,
     Or Afric`s burning zone,
Wi` man and nature leagu`d my foes,
     So Peggy ne`er I`d known!
The wretch whase doom is, "hope nae mair,"
     What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,
     Nae kinder spirits dwell.
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