Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns
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Burns, sometimes known as the 'ploughman poet', was the eldest son of a poverty-stricken farmer. Though his father had moved to Ayrshire, where Burns was born, in order to attempt to improve his fortunes, he eventually died as a bankrupt - after taking on first one farm and then, unsuccessful, moving to another - in 1784. Robert, who had been to school since the age of six, and was also educated at home by a teacher, had, by the age of fifteen, already become the farm's chief labourer. He had also acquired a reading knowledge of French and Latin and had read Shakespeare, Dryden, Milton and the Bible. After his father's death, he and his brother continued farming together, working now at ... more »

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Comments about Robert Burns

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  • Wayne Kelder (3/19/2018 6:13:00 PM)

    My father-in-law used to recite a poem every thanksgiving about we have food and we have drink and so the Lord we thanketh. Does anyone know if that is Robert Burns?

  • Margaret-Anne Turner (2/27/2018 5:09:00 PM)

    A short poem re: God and reversing the letters to dog and how dog worships his master puts man to shame.

  • glenda barber (2/9/2018 1:01:00 PM)

    Apoem containing the words Birchwood on a dark night

  • anonymous (2/1/2018 11:14:00 AM)

    Hey,
    Is there any Robert burns poems on swimming?

  • robert burns (2/1/2018 8:03:00 AM)

    this is Robert Burnses ghost

  • emily (1/31/2018 3:23:00 AM)

    disliking yir poems mate catch yi

  • johnny (1/29/2018 5:38:00 AM)

    horrble i hate poets poems are rubbish

  • charlotte (1/25/2018 12:56:00 PM)

    i had so much fun doing to a mouse in my Scottish assembly at school. Robert burns is so inspirational

  • Rahul Shil Rahul Shil (1/25/2018 11:29:00 AM)

    Happy Birthday My Lovely Poet

  • Ella - Faye Burns (1/25/2018 10:59:00 AM)

    He is my great great great great great great great grandad

Read all 24 comments »
Best Poem of Robert Burns

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Read the full of A Red, Red Rose
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