Forlorn, my Love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe,
At which I most repine, Love.
Chorus—O wert thou, Love, but near me!
But near, near, near me,
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, Love.
Around me scowls a wintry sky,
Blasting each bud of hope and joy;
And shelter, shade, nor home have I;
Save in these arms of thine, Love.
O wert thou, &c.
Cold, alter’d friendship’s cruel part,
To poison Fortune’s ruthless dart—
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, Love.
O wert thou, &c.
But, dreary tho’ the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet;
That only ray of solace sweet,
Can on thy Chloris shine, Love!
O wert thou, &c.
Read all of Robert Burns's poems · About Robert Burns
More by Robert Burns
Write poetry? Submit your poem to Poetry Catalog