Robert Burns Poems
Song'fragment'leezie Lindsay WILL ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay,
Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me?Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay,
Epitaph On A Noisy Polemic BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes;
O Death, it's my opinion,Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin bitch
Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear Ah, woe is me, my mother dear!
A man of strife ye've born me:For sair contention I maun bear;
Verses On Captain Grose KEN ye aught o' Captain Grose?â??Igo, and ago,
If he's amang his friends or foes?â??Iram, coram, dago.
Anna, Thy Charms Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,
A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine
The Song Of Death FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the broad setting sun;Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,
Lines To Mr. John Kennedy FAREWELL, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,
And 'mang her favourites admit you:If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,
Sketch In Verse, Inscribed To The Right Hon. C. J. Fox e blend their black and their white,
How Genius, th' illustrious father of fiction,Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction,
Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer THIS 1 wot ye all whom it concerns,
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,October twenty-third,
The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata e the bauckie-bird,
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
Song'&Quot;Indeed Will I,&Quot; Quo' Findlay "WHA is that at my bower-door?"
"O wha is it but Findlay!""Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here:"
Song'braving Angry Winer's Storms WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochils rise,Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
Song'sic A Wife As Willie Had WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;Willie was a wabster gude,
Epistle To John Maxwell, Esq., Of Terraughty HEALTH to the Maxwell's veteran Chief!
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief:Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf,
The Slave's Lament It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthrall
For the lands of Virginia-ginia O;Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more,
Song'bonie Dundee: A Fragment MY blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie!
My blessin's upon thy e'e-brie!Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,
Song'my Nanie's Awa NOW in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes;While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw,
Epitaph For William Nicol, High School, Edinburgh YE maggots, feed on Nicol's brain,
For few sic feasts you've gotten;And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
Epitaph On William Hood, Senior HERE Souter Hood in death does sleep;
To hell if he's gane thither,Satan, gie him thy gear to keep;
On The Birth Of A Posthumous Child SWEET flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love,
And ward o' mony a prayer,What heart o' stane wad thou na move,
To Mr. M'Adam, Of Craigen-Gillan SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card,
I trow it made me proud;"See wha taks notice o' the bard!"
Peggy Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;And the moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Song'on A Bank Of Flowers ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,
To A Kiss Humid seal of soft affections,
Tend'rest pledge of future bliss,Dearest tie of young connections,
Monody On A Lady, Famed For Her Caprice HOW cold is that bosom which folly once fired,
How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd;How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired,
Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Here FORLORN, my Love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;Far, far from thee, the fate severe,
Tarbolton Lasses, The If ye gae up to yon hill-tap,
Ye'll there see bonie Peggy;She kens her father is a laird,
Song'i Hae Been At Crookieden I HAE been at Crookieden,
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,Viewing Willie and his men,
The Cotter's Saturday Night Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Esq.
Where Are The Joys I Have Met WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning,
That danc'd to the lark's early song?Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring,
152. Extempore In The Court Of Session LORD ADVOCATEHE clenched his pamphlet in his fist,
He quoted and he hinted,Till, in a declamation-mist,
Ye Flowery Banks (Bonie Doon) Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?How can ye chant, ye little birds,
Poem On Pastoral Poetry wds hae swerv'd
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd'Mang heaps o' clavers:
The Rantin Dog, The Daddie O'T O WHA my babie-clouts will buy?
O wha will tent me when I cry?Wha will kiss me where I lie?
A Prayer Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish O THOU Great Being! what Thou art,
Surpasses me to know;Yet sure I am, that known to Thee
Ballad On Mr. Heron's Election'no. 2 here;
For Murray's light horse are to muster,And O how the heroes will swear!
Here's A Health To Them That's Awa Here's a health to them that's awa,
Here's a health to them that's awaAnd wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,
On Elphinstone's Translation Of Martial's Epigrams O THOU whom Poetry abhors,
Whom Prose has turnÃ¨d out of doors,Heard'st thou yon groan?â??proceed no further,
Elegy On The Death Of Robert Ruisseaux NOW Robin 1 lies in his last lair,
He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair;Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare,
Fragment Of Song'the Night Was Still THE NIGHT was still, and o'er the hill
The moon shone on the castle wa';The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang
A Dream On ev'ry new birth-day ye see,
A humble poet wishes. My bardship here, at your Levee
Lines To John M'Murdo Of Drumlanrig O COULD I give thee India's wealth,
As I this trifle send;Because thy joy in both would be
My Highland Lassie, O NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care:Their titles a' arc empty show;
Bonie Peggy Alison Tune - "The Braes o' Balquhidder."
The Tarbolton Lasses If ye gae up to yon hill-tap,
Ye'll there see bonie Peggy;She kens her father is a laird,
Rhyming Reply To A Note From Captain Riddell DEAR SIR, at ony time or tide,
I'd rather sit wi' you than ride,Though 'twere wi' royal Geordie:
Inscription To Jessie Lewars THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the Poet's prayer,That Fate may, in her fairest page,
The Whistle: A Ballad the pride of the North.
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King,And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.
Song'the Lass Of Cessnock Banks and mein;
Our lasses a' she far excels,An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
The Fall Of The Leaf THE LAZY mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill;How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!
Total 505 poems written by Robert Burns
Poem of the day
The Dome Of Sunday
by Karl Shapiro
With focus sharp as Flemish-painted face
In film of varnish brightly fixed
And through a polished hand-lens deeply seen,
Sunday at noon through hyaline thin air
Sees down the street,
And in the camera of my eye depicts
Row-houses and row-lives:
Glass after glass, door after door the same,
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