Explore "Clarinda, Mistress of my Soul" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Clarinda, mistres of my soul, / The measur'd time is run! / The wretch beneath the dreary pole / So marks his latest sun.
To what dark cave of frozen night / Shall poor Sylvander hie; / Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, / The sun of all his joy?
We part-but by these precious drops, / That fill thy lovely eyes, / No other light shall guide my steps, / Till thy bright beams arise!
She, the fair sun of all her sex, / Has blest my glorious day; / And shall a glimmering planet fix / My worship to its ray?