Craigie-burn-wood.
[This is another version of Craigie-burn-wood which Burns sent to Thomson's collection.]
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn,
And blithe awakes the morrow;
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.
I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And care his bosom wringing?
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it longer.
If thou refuse to pity me,
If thou shalt love anither,
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree
Around my grave they'll wither.