Robert Burns (1759–1796)

A Dirge

THE WINTRY west extends his blast,

And hail and rain does blaw;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth

The blinding sleet and snaw:

While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,

And roars frae bank to brae;

And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

“The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,”

The joyless winter-day,

Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May;

The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil,

Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are thy will.

Then all I want (oh, do thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy thou dost deny,

Assist me to resign!