Cauld, cauld she lies where snaws are deep
And bitter blaws the muirland win',
And over her grave the icy stars
Are keepin' watch abune.
But braw, O braw, the blooms that deck
The grave where he that lo'ed her lies,
And saftly blaws the simmer breeze,
And cloudless are the skies.
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Comments about this poem (Dirge by William Gay )
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