Robert Burns (1759-1796)|
THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
TUNESeventh of November.
The day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet :
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line ;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heav'n gave me moreit made thee mine !
While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give ;
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live !
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between, to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my blissit breaks my heart !
The above poem can be found in:
Burns, Robert. Poetical Works of Robert Burns. William Wallace, ed.
London: W. & R. Chambers, Limited, 1958.