Explore "Man was Made to Mourn: a Dirge" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When chill November's surly blast / Made fields and forests bare, / One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth / Along the banks of Ayr, / I spied a man, whose aged step / Seem'd weary, worn with care; / His face furrow'd o'er with years, / And hoary was his hair.
"Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou? " / Began the rev'rend sage; / "Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, / Or youthful pleasure's rage? / Or haply, prest with cares and woes, / Too soon thou hast began / To wander forth, with me to mourn / The miseries of man.