Floral Poetry. 
179 
The bright eye is clouded, 
Its brilliancy shrouded, 
Our strength disappears, we are helpless and lone; 
No reason avails us, 
And intellect fails us; 
Life’s spirit is wasted, and darkness comes on. 
Bowring. 
A RED, RED ROSE. 
/\ MY luve’s like a red, red Rose, 
That’s newly sprung in June : 
O my luve’s like the melodie 
That’s sweetly played in tune. 
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Till a’ the seas gang dry. 
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun : 
I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o’ life shall run. 
And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 
And fare thee weel awhile ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 
Though it were ten thousand mile. 
Burns. 
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