BY Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds are whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready:
I listen'd to a lover's sang,
An' thought on youthfu' pleasures mony;
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang-
"O, dearly do I love thee, Annie!
"O, happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
The place and time I met my Dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said, -I'm thine for ever!'
While mony a kiss the seal imprest-
The sacred vow we ne'er should sever."
The haunt o' Spring's the primrose-brae,
The Summer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery thro' her short'ning day,
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow;
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure?
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?
Song-by Allan Stream
Robert Burns
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Poem topics: autumn, happy, heart, kiss, sorrow, spring, summer, time, pleasure, head, soul, wild, rapture, ready, place, listen, chain, treasure, short, follow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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