Robert Burns Poems

  • 701.  
    It was a' for our rightfu' king
    That we left fair Scotland's strand; It was a' for our rightfu' king
  • 702.  
    AS father Adam first was fool'd,
    (A case that's still too common,) Here lies man a woman ruled,
  • 703.  
    SWEET naïveté of feature,
    Simple, wild, enchanting elf, Not to thee, but thanks to Nature,
  • 704.  
    Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
    The wretch's destinie! M'Pherson's time will not be long
  • 705.  
    AS down the burn they took their way,
    And thro' the flowery dale; His cheek to hers he aft did lay,
  • 706.  
    INSTEAD of a Song, boy's, I'll give you a Toast;
    Here's to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!â?? That we lost, did I say?â??nay, by Heav'n, that we found;
  • 707.  
    1 Is there, for honest poverty,
    2 That hings his head, an' a' that? 3 The coward slave, we pass him by,
  • 708.  
    ALL hail! inexorable lord!
    At whose destruction-breathing word, The mightiest empires fall!
  • 709.  
    ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace,
    These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
  • 710.  
    My mither sent me tae the moss
    For to gaither peats and dross. I cowpit the cairt and hanged the horse
  • 711.  
    Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
    Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
  • 712.  
    BY all I lov'd, neglected and forgot,
    No friendly face e'er lights my squalid cot; Shunn'd, hated, wrong'd, unpitied, unredrest,
  • 713.  
    "O cam ye here the fight to shun,
    Or herd the sheep wi' me, man? Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
  • 714.  
    HERE Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct,
    And empty all his barrels: He's blestâ??if, as he brew'd, he drink,
  • 715.  
    O WHA will to Saint Stephen's House,
    To do our errands there, man? O wha will to Saint Stephen's House
  • 716.  
    When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
    As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld,
  • 717.  
    All devil as I am-a damned wretch,
    A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting villain, Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;
  • 718.  
    I AM a keeper of the law
    In some sma' points, altho' not a'; Some people tell me gin I fa',
  • 719.  
    ALTHO' my back be at the wa',
    And tho' he be the fautor; Altho' my back be at the wa',
  • 720.  
    THOU greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures;
    Give me with young Folly to live; I grant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures,
  • 721.  
    Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
    Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed,
  • 722.  
    WHILE larks, with little wing,
    Fann'd the pure air, Tasting the breathing Spring,
  • 723.  
    OH, open the door, some pity to shew,
    Oh, open the door to me, oh, Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
  • 724.  
    MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion
    Round the wealthy, titled bride: But when compar'd with real passion,
  • 725.  
    IN this strange land, this uncouth clime,
    A land unknown to prose or rhyme; Where words ne'er cross't the Muse's heckles,
  • 726.  
    HERE lie Willie Michie's banes;
    O Satan, when ye tak him, Gie him the schulin o' your weans,
  • 727.  
    O WILLIE 1 brew'd a peck o' maut,
    And Rob and Allen cam to see; Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,
  • 728.  
    THROUGH and through th' inspir'd leaves,
    Ye maggots, make your windings; But O respect his lordship's taste,
  • 729.  
    Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear, lend an ear!
    Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear, Ye Jacobites by name,
  • 730.  
    FOR lords or kings I dinna mourn,
    E'en let them die-for that they're born: But oh! prodigious to reflec'!
  • 731.  
    WHEN first my brave Johnie lad came to this town,
    He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown; But now he has gotten a hat and a feather,
  • 732.  
    Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay
    Taks up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way,
  • 733.  
    Among the heathy hills and ragged woods
    The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
  • 734.  
    AULD chuckie Reekie's 1 sair distrest,
    Down droops her ance weel burnish'd crest, Nae joy her bonie buskit nest
  • 735.  
    'TIS Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend,
    Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend
  • 736.  
    A Tale
    "Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." Gawin Douglas.
  • 737.  
    }
    };
  • 738.  
    }
    };
  • 739.  
    O I've walked o'er yon countries baith early and late
    Among Airlin's braw lasses I've had mony a lang seat.Comin' hame in the mornins, fin I should have been at ease
  • 740.  
    HERE lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd,
    If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.
  • 741.  
    IN Politics if thou would'st mix,
    And mean thy fortunes be;Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind,
  • 742.  
    n an' drinkin!
    There's mony godly folks are thinkin,Your dreams and tricks
  • 743.  
    O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause
    Of all my hope and fear!In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
  • 744.  
    Chorus.â??O mount and go, mount and make you ready,
    O mount and go, and be the Captain's lady.
  • 745.  
    "PRAISE Woman still," his lordship roars,
    "Deserv'd or not, no matter?"But thee, whom all my soul adores,
  • 746.  
    Is there a whim-inspired fool,
    Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
  • 747.  
    The wintry west extends his blast,
    And hail and rain does blaw;Or the stormy north sends driving forth
  • 748.  
    THE SMILING Spring comes in rejoicing,
    And surly Winter grimly flies;Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
  • 749.  
    When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
    As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld,
  • 750.  
    The man, in life wherever plac'd,
    Hath happiness in store,Who walks not in the wicked's way,
Total 973 poems written by Robert Burns

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
Barbury Camp
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

We burrowed night and day with tools of lead,
Heaped the bank up and cast it in a ring
And hurled the earth above. And Caesar said,
“Why, it is excellent. I like the thing.”
We, who are dead,
Made it, and wrought, and Caesar liked the thing.

And here we strove, and here we felt each vein
...

Read complete poem

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