Poet Robert Burns

Robert Burns

Robert Burns Poems

  • 301.  
    O DEATH, had'st thou but spar'd his life,
    Whom we this day lament, We freely wad exchanged the wife,
  • 302.  
    WHEN Princes and Prelates,
    And hot-headed zealots, A' Europe had set in a low, a low,
  • 303.  
    THE LADDIES by the banks o' Nith
    Wad trust his Grace 1 wi a', Jamie; But he'll sair them, as he sair'd the Kingâ??
  • 304.  
    BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow-braes,
    They rove amang the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws
  • 305.  
    O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
    O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car,
  • 306.  
    O THOU pale orb that silent shines
    While care-untroubled mortals sleep! Thou seest a wretch who inly pines.
  • 307.  
    Chorusâ??Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,
    Mally's modest and discreet; Mally's rare, Mally's fair,
  • 308.  
    Chorus.â??O lovely Polly Stewart,
    O charming Polly Stewart, There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May,
  • 309.  
    O, were my love yon lilac fair
    Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, And I a bird to shelter there,
  • 310.  
    'TWAS in the seventeen hunder year
    O' grace, and ninety-five, That year I was the wae'est man
  • 311.  
    O POORTITH cauld, and restless love,
    Ye wrack my peace between ye; Yet poortith a' I could forgive,
  • 312.  
    DAUGHTER of Chaos' doting years,
    Nurse of ten thousand hopes and fears, Whether thy airy, insubstantial shade
  • 313.  
    SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
    Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain, See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,
  • 314.  
    Tune - "Invercauld's Reel, or Strathspey."
    Choir. - O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
  • 315.  
    THE SOLEMN League and Covenant
    Now brings a smile, now brings a tear; But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs:
  • 316.  
    'Husband, husband, cease your strife,
    Nor longer idly rave, Sir; Tho' I am your wedded wife
  • 317.  
    There was three kings unto the east,
    Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath
  • 318.  
    THERE'S a youth in this city, it were a great pity
    That he from our lassies should wander awa'; For he's bonie and braw, weel-favor'd witha',
  • 319.  
    ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,
    And waste my soul with care; But ah! how bootless to admire,
  • 320.  
    STAY my charmer, can you leave me?
    Cruel, cruel to deceive me; Well you know how much you grieve me;
  • 321.  
    FOR thee is laughing Nature gay,
    For thee she pours the vernal day; For me in vain is Nature drest,
  • 322.  
    STRAIT is the spot and green the sod
    From whence my sorrows flow; And soundly sleeps the ever dear
  • 323.  
    CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
    The crouching vassal to a tyrant wife! Who has no will but by her high permission,
  • 324.  
    HEAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
    Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;â?? If there's a hole in a' your coats,
  • 325.  
    O RAGING Fortune's withering blast
    Has laid my leaf full low, O! O raging Fortune's withering blast
  • 326.  
    MY lord, I know your noble ear
    Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
  • 327.  
    WHEN dear Clarinda, 1 matchless fair,
    First struck Sylvander's raptur'd view, He gaz'd, he listened to despair,
  • 328.  
    DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
    Then let the louns beware, Sir; There's wooden walls upon our seas,
  • 329.  
    SIR, as your mandate did request,
    I send you here a faithfu' list, O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith,
  • 330.  
    O THOU who kindly dost provide
    For every creature's want! We bless Thee, God of Nature wide,
  • 331.  
    WHEN chill November's surly blast
    Made fields and forests bare, One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth
  • 332.  
    LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,
    The snaws the mountains cover; Like winter on me seizes,
  • 333.  
    In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men,
    And proper young lasses and a', man; But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals,
  • 334.  
    PEG NICHOLSON was a good bay mare,
    As ever trod on airn; But now she's floating down the Nith,
  • 335.  
    THERE'S Death in the cup, so beware!
    Nay, moreâ??there is danger in touching; But who can avoid the fell snare,
  • 336.  
    I CALL no Goddess to inspire my strains,
    A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns: Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns,
  • 337.  
    'And send the godly in a pet to pray.' - Pope
    O Thou, that in the heavens does dwell,
  • 338.  
    Chorusâ??O aye my wife she dang me,
    An' aft my wife she bang'd me, If ye gie a woman a' her will,
  • 339.  
    O Thou Great Being! what Thou art,
    Surpasses me to know; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee
  • 340.  
    AFAR 1 the illustrious Exile roams,
    Whom kingdoms on this day should hail; An inmate in the casual shed,
  • 341.  
    GRANT me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live,
    To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
  • 342.  
    Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,
    That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usherast in the day
  • 343.  
    OLD Winter, with his frosty beard,
    Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred: "What have I done of all the year,
  • 344.  
    THO' cruel fate should bid us part,
    Far as the pole and line, Her dear idea round my heart,
  • 345.  
    HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore,
    Where the winds howl to the wave's dashing roar: There would I weep my woes,
  • 346.  
    Wishfully I look and languish
    In that bonie face o' thine, And my heart it sounds wi' anguish,
  • 347.  
    O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab?
    O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? She's down in the yard, she's kissin the laird,
  • 348.  
    WHAT will I do gin my Hoggie die?
    My joy, my pride, my Hoggie! My only beast, I had nae mae,
  • 349.  
    As I was a-wand'ring ae morning in spring,
    I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing; And as he was singin', thir words he did say, -
  • 350.  
    IT was upon a Lammas night,
    When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
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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