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101. Song—Composed in Spring

 AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees
 Her robe assume its vernal hues:
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
 All freshly steep’d in morning dews.
—And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e? For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk, An’ it winna let a body be.
In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to me the vi’lets spring; In vain to me in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing.
And maun I still, &c.
The merry ploughboy cheers his team, Wi’ joy the tentie seedsman stalks; But life to me’s a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks.
And maun I still, &c.
The wanton coot the water skims, Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, The stately swan majestic swims, And ev’ry thing is blest but I.
And maun I still, &c.
The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, And o’er the moorlands whistles shill: Wi’ wild, unequal, wand’ring step, I meet him on the dewy hill.
And maun I still, &c.
And when the lark, ’tween light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy’s side, And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
And maun I still, &c.
Come winter, with thine angry howl, And raging, bend the naked tree; Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, When nature all is sad like me! And maun I still, &c.

Poem by Robert Burns
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