Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

361. Wha Is That At My Bower-Door 3/29/2010
362. My Eppie Macnab 3/29/2010
363. The First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified 3/29/2010
364. The Auld Farmer's New-Year-Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare , Maggie 1/1/2004
365. To Mary In Heaven 3/29/2010
366. It Was A' For Our Rightfu' King 3/29/2010
367. Bonie Lesley 3/29/2010
368. The Birks Of Aberfeldy 3/29/2010
369. Ronalds Of The Bennals, The 12/31/2002
370. The Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie 1/1/2004
371. The Ploughman's Life 3/29/2010
372. Sketch—new Year's Day, 1790 11/15/2014
373. The Muckin' O' Geordie's Byre 3/29/2010
374. The Banks O' Doon 1/4/2003
375. Prayer, Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish 12/31/2002
376. Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish 3/29/2010
377. Poor Mailie's Elegy 12/31/2002
378. Song—the Winter It Is Past 3/29/2010
379. Wee Willie Gray 3/29/2010
380. The Lover’s Morning Salute To His Mistress 3/29/2010
381. M'Pherson's Rant 3/29/2010
382. The Holy Fair 3/29/2010
383. To Miss Jessie Lewars 3/29/2010
384. My Love, She's But A Lassie Yet 3/29/2010
385. My Spouse Nancy 3/29/2010
386. The Slave’s Lament 3/25/2010
387. Here's A Bottle 3/29/2010
388. The Tarbolton Lasses 1/3/2003
389. Airlin's Fine Braes 3/29/2010
390. Ploughman's Life, The 12/31/2002
391. Peggy 12/31/2002
392. Montgomerie's Peggy 12/31/2002
393. Go Fetch To Me A Pint 3/29/2010
394. The Lass Of Cessnock Banks 1/1/2004
395. Lass Of Cessnock Banks, The 5/13/2001
396. Ny Nannie, O 12/31/2002
397. The Twa Dogs 3/29/2010
398. Tarbolton Lasses, The 12/31/2002
399. O Tibbie, I Hae Seen The Day 12/31/2002
400. Ye Jacobites By Name 3/25/2010

Comments about Robert Burns

  • h dog (11/21/2017 10:48:00 AM)

    i hate poems i'm here for a English project ya'll r nerds

    10 person liked.
    23 person did not like.
  • Aina  Tumininu Aina Tumininu (11/22/2016 2:18:00 AM)

    I love these poems

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

    these poems r gr9 well done robert x

  • 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

John Anderson My Jo

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonny brow was brent;
But now your brow is bled, John,
Your locks are like the straw,
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo!

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