Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear

Poem by Robert Burns

Ah, woe is me, my mother dear!
A man of strife ye've born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.

I ne'er could lend on bill or band,
That five per cent. might blest me;
And borrowing, on the tither hand,
The deil a ane wad trust me.

Yet I, a coin-denied wight,
By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night,
By lad and lass blackguarded!


Comments about Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear by Robert Burns

  • Ratnakar Mandlik (10/21/2019 11:18:00 PM)

    A great soliloquy conversing with mother and narrating pitfalls in the nature of self, inherited from her.(Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: trust, hate, mother, night



Poem Submitted: Sunday, May 13, 2001



[Report Error]