by Robert Burns
18th Century · Short · 8 lineslovenature
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.
Public domain. Source: PoetryDB. Reproduced verbatim; see theanthology for the full collection.
Matched by documented rules, not taste: two points for every theme tag a poem shares with 220. Song—The Winter it is Past, one point for the same era, one for a similar length.
Shares: love, nature, short · 12 lines
Shares: love, nature, short · 14 lines
Shares: love, nature, short · 14 lines
Shares: love, nature, short · 14 lines
Shares: love, 18th Century era, short · 8 lines
Shares: love, 18th Century era, short · 9 lines
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