Auld Lang Syne, my dear, With bonnie lasses near; Long long ago our hearts were free, The woods were young and green.

We write our flowing song, Its wilding winds belong To the faithful heart that never dies, To the nights of summer glow.

So, shall we merry meet again, In the shadow of the autumn trees, And tell our tales of joy and pain, While music sings its sweet degrees?

• Robert Burns