Fate Knows No Tears

Just as the dawn of Love was breaking

Across the weary world of grey,

Just as my life once more was waking

As roses waken late in May,

Fate, blindly cruel and havoc-making,

Stepped in and carried you away.

Memories have I none in keeping

Of times I held you near my heart,

Of dreams when we were near to weeping

That dawn should bid us rise and part;

Never, alas, I saw you sleeping

With soft closed eyes and lips apart,

Breathing my name still through your dreaming.–

Ah! had you stayed, such things had been!

But Fate, unheeding human scheming,

Serenely reckless came between–

Fate with her cold eyes hard and gleaming

Unseared by all the sorrow seen.

Ah! well-beloved, I never told you,

I did not show in speech or song,

How at the end I longed to fold you

Close in my arms; so fierce and strong

The longing grew to have and hold you,

You, and you only, all life long.

They who know nothing call me fickle,

Keen to pursue and loth to keep.

Ah, could they see these tears that trickle

From eyes erstwhile too proud to weep.

Could see me, prone, beneath the sickle,

While pain and sorrow stand and reap!

Unopened scarce, yet overblown, lie

The hopes that rose-like round me grew,

The lights are low, and more than lonely

This life I lead apart from you.

Come back, come back! I want you only,

And you who loved me never knew.

You loved me, pleaded for compassion

On all the pain I would not share;

And I in weary, halting fashion

Was loth to listen, long to care;

But now, dear God! I faint with passion

For your far eyes and distant hair.

Yes, I am faint with love, and broken

With sleepless nights and empty days;

I want your soft words fiercely spoken,

Your tender looks and wayward ways–

Want that strange smile that gave me token

Of many things that no man says.

Cold was I, weary, slow to waken

Till, startled by your ardent eyes,

I felt the soul within me shaken

And long-forgotten senses rise;

But in that moment you were taken,

And thus we lost our Paradise!

Farewell, we may not now recover

That golden “Then” misspent, passed by,

We shall not meet as loved and lover

Here, or hereafter, you and I.

My time for loving you is over,

Love has no future, but to die.

And thus we part, with no believing

In any chance of future years.

We have no idle self-deceiving,

No half-consoling hopes and fears;

We know the Gods grant no retrieving

A wasted chance. Fate knows no tears.

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Poems in English 

• Robert Burns: To A Louse: On Seeing One On A Lady’s Bonnet, At Church by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: To Mr. M’Adam, Of Craigen-Gillan: In answer to an obliging Letter he sent in the commencement of my poetic career. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: To John Kennedy, Dumfries House: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Inventory: In answer to a mandate by the Surveyor of the Taxes by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Address To The Unco Guid, Or The Rigidly Righteous: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Here’s His Health In Water : by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Rantin’ Dog, The Daddie O’t: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Vision: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epistle To James Smith: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Ordination : For sense they little owe to frugal Heav’n- To please the mob, they hide the little giv’n. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Author’s Earnest Cry And Prayer: To the Right Honourable and Honourable Scotch Representatives in the House of Commons. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Twa Dogs: A Tale by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Auld Farmer’s New-Year-Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare, Maggie: On giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the New Year. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Scotch Drink : by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Address To The Deil: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Cotter’s Saturday Night: Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq., of Ayr. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Merry Hae I Been Teethin A Heckle: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: For A’ That: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Adam Armour’s Prayer: by Robert Burns

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