Robert Burns Poems

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AH, Chloris, since it may not be,
That thou of love wilt hear;
If from the lover thou maun flee,
Yet let the friend be dear.


Altho’ I love my Chloris mair
Than ever tongue could tell;
My passion I will ne’er declare—
I’ll say, I wish thee well.


Tho’ a’ my daily care thou art,
And a’ my nightly dream,
I’ll hide the struggle in my heart,
And say it is esteem.

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