Explore "The Winter it is Past" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last / And the small birds, they sing on ev'ry tree; / Now ev'ry thing is glad, while I am very sad, / Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear, / May have charms for the linnet or the bee; / Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, / But my true love is parted from me.