Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

361. Birthday Ode For 31st December, 1787 10/25/2014
362. The Whistle: A Ballad 10/25/2014
363. Inscription To Chloris 10/24/2014
364. A Grace After Dinner 10/24/2014
365. A Grace After Dinner 10/24/2014
366. My Girl She's Airy: A Fragment 10/24/2014
367. Song—whistle And I'Ll Come To You 11/15/2014
368. Song—the Highland Balou 11/14/2014
369. Stanzas On Naething 11/14/2014
370. Fragment Of Song—&Quot;My Jean!&Quot; 11/15/2014
371. Lines Written On A Bank-Note 11/15/2014
372. My Bonie Bell 10/24/2014
373. To Mary In Heaven 3/29/2010
374. How Cruel Are The Parents 10/24/2014
375. To Ruin 10/25/2014
376. Inconstancy In Love 10/25/2014
377. Another On The Said Occasion 10/25/2014
378. Thine Am I, My Faithful Fair 10/25/2014
379. Despondency -- An Ode 5/13/2001
380. Battle Of Sherramuir, The 12/31/2002
381. Holy Fair, The 12/31/2002
382. The Gloomy Night Is Gath'Ring Fast 1/3/2003
383. The Holy Fair 3/29/2010
384. Go Fetch To Me A Pint 3/29/2010
385. A Prayer Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish 10/25/2014
386. The Lover’s Morning Salute To His Mistress 3/29/2010
387. The Bookworms 11/14/2014
388. Bonie Jean: A Ballad 11/15/2014
389. Address To Beelzebub 11/15/2014
390. Epigram On Politics 11/15/2014
391. Song—my Wife's A Winsome Wee Thing 11/15/2014
392. My Highland Lassie, O 11/15/2014
393. Song—composed In August 11/15/2014
394. The Birks Of Aberfeldy 3/29/2010
395. 89. The Ordination 10/24/2014
396. My Father Was A Farmer: A Ballad 10/24/2014
397. Verses On A Parting Kiss 10/25/2014
398. Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet 10/25/2014
399. Epitaph On Holy Willie 5/13/2001
400. A Fiddler In The North 1/1/2004

Comments about Robert Burns

  • Satan Satan (10/7/2016 3:56:00 AM)

    these poems r gr9 well done robert x

    25 person liked.
    28 person did not like.
  • Kenneth Bowen (6/30/2016 2:31:00 AM)

    The audio for To a Mouse is atrocious. Wi' should be pronounced wi (as in with excluding the th sound) not W I; the same for na which stands for not, instead of N A. I can't believe you let this be published.
    I expected a true Scottish rendition, not someone's feeble attempt. Also, the reader knows absolutely nothing about reading poetry.

  • Cj Mcwilliam Cj Mcwilliam (1/25/2016 5:07:00 AM)

    Scotch is actually the Scottish word for Scots, but the language itself actually differs depending on which area you're in, I think Burns spoke Doric.

  • Robert Buchanan (7/17/2015 10:31:00 PM)

    Stephen he may well have been drinking Scotch but as Jennifer says the language is Scots or Auld Scots and it was not so much the language which was suppressed but the culture of the people, the music and the dress but to give two examples. Robert Burns was a remarkable man, his breath may have stopped but his voice is still heard.

  • Jennifer Barker (5/21/2015 12:02:00 PM)

    The language is actually Scots, not Scotch (as in the whisky) . It is a 800+ year old language.

  • Stephen W (1/1/2014 5:22:00 PM)

    @Ryan Walker: he was writing in Scotch, a perfectly respectable language, later suppressed by a tyrannical government.

  • Ryan Walker (1/26/2012 12:13:00 PM)

    Interesting. His poetry reminds me of when I read Mark Twain's Huckelberry Finn. It's a great use of broken and common language. It certainly adds an aspect to his poetry.

  • Ted Mohr (12/11/2009 11:35:00 AM)

    Your copy of Robert Burns' A Man's a Man for A' That appears to me to have left out one line in the final stanza which when entered would make the 5th and 6th lines read:
    For a' that, an' a' that,
    It’s cuming yet, for a' that,

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

Banks O' Doon, The

Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.

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