“The day returns, my bosom burns”

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

THE DAY returns, my bosom burns;

The blissful day we twa did meet;

Though winter wild in tempest toiled,

Ne’er summer sun was half sae sweet.

Than a’ the pride that loads the tide,

And crosses o’er the sultry line,—

Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes,

Heaven gave me more; it made thee mine.

While day and night can bring delight,

Or nature aught of pleasure give,—

While joys above my mind can move,

For thee and thee alone I live;

When that grim foe of life below

Comes in between to make us part,

The iron hand that breaks our band,

It breaks my bliss,—it breaks my heart.