Song—Composed in Spring

Again rejoicing Nature sees
  Her robe assume its vernal hues:
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
  All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

  Chorus.—and maun I still on Menie doat,
    And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?
  For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
    An' it winna let a body be.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
  In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
In vain to me in glen or shaw,
  The mavis and the lintwhite sing.
                And maun I still, &c.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
But life to me's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.
                And maun I still, &c.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And ev'ry thing is blest but I.
                And maun I still, &c.

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
And o'er the moorlands whistles shill:
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.
                And maun I still, &c.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
                And maun I still, &c.

Come winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging, bend the naked tree;
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When nature all is sad like me!
                And maun I still, &c.
Song—Composed in Spring

by Robert Burns, 1786
