Robert Burns (17591796). Poems and Songs. The Harvard Classics. 190914. |
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| 148. To Miss Logan, with Beatties Poems |
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| AGAIN the silent wheels of time | |
| Their annual round have driven, | |
| And you, tho scarce in maiden prime, | |
| Are so much nearer Heaven. | |
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| No gifts have I from Indian coasts | 5 |
| The infant year to hail; | |
| I send you more than India boasts, | |
| In Edwins simple tale. | |
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| Our sex with guile, and faithless love, | |
| Is chargd, perhaps too true; | 10 |
| But may, dear maid, each lover prove | |
| An Edwin still to you. | |
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