Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

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