Robert Burns Quotes on Pleasure
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Green grow the rashes, O; Green grow the rashes, O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend Are spent among the lasses, O.
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Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
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But pleasures are like poppies spread- You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river- A moment white-then melts forever.