---
title: "Song, Composed in Spring"
author: "Robert Burns"
form: "Song"
year: "1786"
tune: "Jockey’s Grey Breeks"
location: "Mossgiel"
source: "Project Gutenberg #1279 — Poems and Songs of Robert Burns"
source_url: "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1279/pg1279.txt"
canonical_url: "https://robert-burns.com/poems/song-composed-in-spring/"
---

# Song, Composed in Spring

## Song
Again rejoicing Nature sees  
Her robe assume its vernal hues:  
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,  
All freshly steep’d in morning dews.

*Chorus*  
And maun I still on Menie doat,  
And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?  
For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,  
An’ it winna let a body be.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,  
In vain to me the vi’lets spring;  
In vain to me in glen or shaw,  
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

*Chorus*  
And maun I still on Menie doat,  
And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?  
For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,  
An’ it winna let a body be.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,  
Wi’ joy the tentie seedsman stalks;  
But life to me’s a weary dream,  
A dream of ane that never wauks.

*Chorus*  
And maun I still on Menie doat,  
And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?  
For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,  
An’ it winna let a body be.

The wanton coot the water skims,  
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,  
The stately swan majestic swims,  
And ev’ry thing is blest but I.

*Chorus*  
And maun I still on Menie doat,  
And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?  
For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,  
An’ it winna let a body be.

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,  
And o’er the moorlands whistles shill:  
Wi’ wild, unequal, wand’ring step,  
I meet him on the dewy hill.

*Chorus*  
And maun I still on Menie doat,  
And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?  
For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,  
An’ it winna let a body be.

And when the lark, ’tween light and dark,  
Blythe waukens by the daisy’s side,  
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,  
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.

*Chorus*  
And maun I still on Menie doat,  
And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?  
For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,  
An’ it winna let a body be.

Come winter, with thine angry howl,  
And raging, bend the naked tree;  
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,  
When nature all is sad like me!

*Chorus*  
And maun I still on Menie doat,  
And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?  
For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,  
An’ it winna let a body be.

---

Source: [Project Gutenberg #1279 — Poems and Songs of Robert Burns](https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1279/pg1279.txt)  
Canonical HTML: https://robert-burns.com/poems/song-composed-in-spring/