The Farewell
The Farewell | |
Robert Tannahill
| Accuse me not, inconstant fair, Of being false to thee, For I was true, would still been so, Had'st thou been true to me: But when I knew thy plighted lips Once to a rival's prest, Love-smother'd independence rose, And spurn'd thee from my breast. | 2. The fairest flow'r in nature's field Conceals the rankling thorn; So thou, sweet flow'r! as false as fair, This once kind heart hast torn: 'Twas mine to prove the fellest pangs That slighted love can feel; 'Tis thine to weep that one rash act, Which bids this long farewell. |