Who is Robert Henryson

Robert Henryson (Middle Scots: Robert Henrysoun) was a poet who flourished in Scotland in the period c. 1460–1500. Counted among the Scots makars, he lived in the royal burgh of Dunfermline and is a distinctive voice in the Northern Renaissance at a time when the culture was on a cusp between medieval and renaissance sensibilities. Little is known of his life, but evidence suggests that he was a teacher who had training in law and the humanities, that he had a connection with Dunfermline Abbey and that he may also have been associated for a period with Glasgow University. His poetry was composed in Middle Scots at a time when this was the state language. His writing consists mainly of narrative works. His surviving body of work amounts to almost 5000 lines.WorksHenryson's surviving canon...
Read Full Biography of Robert Henryson


Robert Henryson Poems

  • Robin And Makyne
    Robin sat on gude green hill,
    Kepand a flock of fe:
    Mirry Makyne said him till
    ‘Robin, thou rew on me:...
Read All Poems


Top 10 most used topics by Robert Henryson

Away 1 God 1 Green 1 Hair 1 Heart 1 Light 1 Never 1 Pain 1 Walk 1 Pray 1


Robert Henryson Quotes

Read All Quotes


Comments about Robert Henryson

Henryhitchings: one of the pleasures of writing a review is that it prompts me to look at other things. in the most recent case (
Bcla_official: our last speaker in this panel is ruggero bianchin, who is looking at “the italian voice of robert henryson”
Iainnicol: > the paddok for to droun set hir intent. > quhen thay in midwart off the streme wer went, — the taill of the paddok & the mous, by robert henryson
Atrupar: lol -- larry kudlow presents a bunch of outdated stats from 2019, before the coronavirus pandemic, as evidence of the "v-shaped recovery." reporters cry foul.
Read All Comments


Write your comment about Robert Henryson


Poem of the day

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poem
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 073
 by Alfred Lord Tennyson

So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?

The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,
The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath:
I curse not nature, no, nor death;
...

Read complete poem

Popular Poets