Burns in Winter

Much atthol brose will be consumed today, along with the haggis, and there will be countless recitations of the poems of Robert Burns.

On Robbie Burns Day, most will remember the romantic verse ("My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose") or the whimsy ("To a Wee Mouse") or the patriotic ("Scots Wha Hae Wi' Wallace Bled"), but we are grateful to the Reverend Douglas Fenton for alerting us to the less familiar "Winter's Dirge." Here is the middle stanza:

The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,

The joyless winter day

Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May.

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine.

Another Glenfiddich, please.