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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  • Moucihasri (10/11/2018 8:13:00 PM)

    Thank you for this

  • Sandra MacLean (9/17/2018 10:22:00 AM)

    My grandfather Kennedy used to play around Robbie Burns' cottage.

  • Alex McD (8/15/2018 2:19:00 PM)

    My father sang red red rose to my mother on their wedding day in 1963 and I read it to my wife on our wedding day at Edinburgh castle in 1998

  • Ruta Mohapatra Ruta Mohapatra (7/3/2018 12:33:00 PM)

    ' A red, red rose' is my favorite Burns poem. So romantic!

  • Brenda breunig (5/12/2018 7:51:00 PM)

    About wonder things like roses

  • Peter Williams (4/30/2018 4:43:00 AM)

    Sounds like a versión of the Selkirk Grace

  • 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?

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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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