The Tear-Drop

Wae is my heart, and the tear’s in my e’e; 
Lang, lang has Joy been a stranger to me: 
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear, 
And the sweet voice o’ Pity ne’er sounds in my ear. 

Love thou hast pleasures, and deep hae I luv’d; 
Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I pruv’d; 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, 
I can feel, by its throbbings, will soon be at rest. 

Oh, if I were-where happy I hae been- 
Down by yon stream, and yon bonie castle-green; 
For there he is wand’ring and musing on me, 
Wha wad soon dry the tear-drop that clings to my e’e.

(Robert Burns, 1794)