Explore Poems GO!

Epistle To The Rev. John M'Math

Rating: 5.0

WHILE at the stook the shearers cow'r
To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r,
Or in gulravage rinnin scowr
To pass the time,
To you I dedicate the hour
In idle rhyme.


My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet
On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet,

Is grown right eerie now she's done it,
Read More

Saturday, October 25, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: letter
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dr Antony Theodore 07 April 2020

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd; Sir, in that circle you are fam'd; An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd (Which gies you honour) Even, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, An' winning manner. beautiful poem. tony

0 0 Reply
Dr Antony Theodore 26 June 2019

See him, the poor man's friend in need, The gentleman in word an' deed— An' shall his fame an' honour bleed By worthless, skellums, An' not a muse erect her head To cowe the blellums? a very good poem of Robert Burns. tony

0 0 Reply