Robert Burns Poems

  • 501.  
    EXPECT na, sir, in this narration,
    A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication, To roose you up, an' ca' you guid,
  • 502.  
    HOW pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
    With green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming fair! But the boniest flow'r on the banks of the Devon
  • 503.  
    A Song of Similes
    Tune - 'If he be a Butcher neat and trim.'
  • 504.  
    THAT there is a falsehood in his looks,
    I must and will deny: They tell their Master is a knave,
  • 505.  
    Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,
    Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed
  • 506.  
    NO more, ye warblers of the wood! no more;
    Nor pour your descant grating on my soul; Thou young-eyed Spring! gay in thy verdant stole,
  • 507.  
    THOU flatt'ring mark of friendship kind,
    Still may thy pages call to mind The dear, the beauteous donor;
  • 508.  
    HUMID seal of soft affections,
    Tenderest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections,
  • 509.  
    THE HEATHER was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
    Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn, O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
  • 510.  
    ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!
    Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me rememberâ??
  • 511.  
    DEAR â??â??â??, I'll gie ye some advice,
    You'll tak it no uncivil: You shouldna paint at angels mair,
  • 512.  
    Chorusâ??Long, long the night,
    Heavy comes the morrow While my soul's delight
  • 513.  
    WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene?
    Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill betweenâ??
  • 514.  
    THERE lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes,
    Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; And he had a wife was the plague of his days,
  • 515.  
    I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty
    To warn you how that Master Tootie, Alias, Laird M'Gaun,
  • 516.  
    WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,
    What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie
  • 517.  
    O WERE my love yon Lilac fair,
    Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring, And I, a bird to shelter there,
  • 518.  
    Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,
    A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine
  • 519.  
    THERE 1 was a lad was born in Kyle,
    But whatna day o' whatna style, I doubt it's hardly worth the while
  • 520.  
    Sleep'st thou, or wakâ??st thou, fairest creature?
    Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature
  • 521.  
    GUDEWIFE,I MIND it weel in early date,
    When I was bardless, young, and blate, An' first could thresh the barn,
  • 522.  
    LATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg,
    About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest
  • 523.  
    THE BLUDE-RED rose at Yule may blaw,
    The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
  • 524.  
    FAREWELL to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
    The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
  • 525.  
    Chorus.â??Jamie, come try me,
    Jamie, come try me, If thou would win my love,
  • 526.  
    THOU, Liberty, thou art my theme;
    Not such as idle poets dream, Who trick thee up a heathen goddess
  • 527.  
    AE day, as Death, that gruesome carl,
    Was driving to the tither warl' A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
  • 528.  
    LONE on the bleaky hills the straying flocks
    Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains,
  • 529.  
    YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,
    A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine
  • 530.  
    Chorusâ??O gude ale comes and gude ale goes;
    Gude ale gars me sell my hose, Sell my hose, and pawn my shoonâ??
  • 531.  
    YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
    To follow the noble vocation; Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
  • 532.  
    Is there for honest poverty
    That hangs his head, an' a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by
  • 533.  
    The Author's Only Pet Yowe
    An Unco Mournfu' Tale
  • 534.  
    YE flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
       How can ye blume sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds,
  • 535.  
    The Author's Only Pet Yowe
    An Unco Mournfu' Tale
  • 536.  
    SOME books are lies frae end to end,
    And some great lies were never penn'd: Ev'n ministers they hae been kenn'd,
  • 537.  
    FAIR maid, you need not take the hint,
    Nor idle texts pursue: 'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,
  • 538.  
    GANE is the day, and mirk's the night,
    But we'll ne'er stray for faut o' light; Gude ale and bratdy's stars and moon,
  • 539.  
    O LEAVE novels, 1 ye Mauchline belles,
    Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel; Such witching books are baited hooks
  • 540.  
    WHILE briers an' woodbines budding green,
    An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, An' morning poussie whiddin seen,
  • 541.  
    THE WINTER it is past, and the summer comes at last
    And the small birds, they sing on ev'ry tree; Now ev'ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
  • 542.  
    1 Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
    2 When Nature's face is fair, 3 I walked forth to view the corn
  • 543.  
    HOW cruel are the parents
    Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy booby
  • 544.  
    HERE lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
    What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam: Want only of wisdom denied her respect,
  • 545.  
    AULD comrade dear, and brither sinner,
    How's a' the folk about Glenconner? How do you this blae eastlin wind,
  • 546.  
    Upon that night, when fairies light
    On Cassilis Downans dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
  • 547.  
    HERE'S a health to them that's awa,
    Here's a health to them that's awa; And wha winna wish gude luck to our cause,
  • 548.  
    Go fetch to me a pint o wine,
    And fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink, before I go,
  • 549.  
    WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
    And gentle peace returning, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
  • 550.  
    LORD, we thank, and thee adore,
    For temporal gifts we little merit; At present we will ask no moreâ??
Total 973 poems written by Robert Burns

Poem of the day

John Keats Poem
A Thing Of Beauty (Endymion)
 by John Keats

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

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