The Winter It Is Past
v. 1 and 2, Robert Burns, 1788; v.3 and 4 unknown



The winter it is past,
And the summers comes at last,
And the small birds sing on ev'ry tree;
The hearts of these are glad,
While I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.

2. The rose upon the breer,
By the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest
And their little hearts at rest,
But my true love is parted from me.

3. My love is like the sun,
In the firmament does run,
For ever constant and true;
But his is like the moon
That wanders up and down,
And every month it is new.

4. All you that are in love
And cannot it remove,
I pity the pains you endure:
For experience makes me know
That your hearts are full of woe,
A woe no mortal can cure.