My Jean
Though cruel fate should bid us part,
Far as the pole and line,
Her dear idea round my heart
Should tenderly entwine.
Though mountains rise, and deserts howl,
And oceans roar between;
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul,
I still would love my Jean.
—Robert Burns
Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee,
Nor with my voice accuse thee;
But tune my notes unto thy praise,
And tell the world Love ne'er decays.
Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish:
What wanteth concord soon must perish.
—Thomas Walker