Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

441. The Tear-Drop 1/1/2004
442. Lass That Made The Bed To Me, The 12/31/2002
443. Mary Morison 12/31/2002
444. Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green 12/31/2002
445. Here's A Health To Them That's Awa 5/13/2001
446. Ca' The Yowes To The Knowes 5/13/2001
447. The Rigs O' Barley 1/1/2004
448. To A Mountain Daisy 12/31/2002
449. O, Were My Love 12/31/2002
450. Bonie Wee Thing, The 12/31/2002
451. Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring 1/1/2004
452. Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie, The 12/31/2002
453. Birks Of Aberfeldie, The 12/31/2002
454. Epitaph On Holy Willie 5/13/2001
455. Up In The Morning Early 12/31/2002
456. Robert Bruce's March To Bannockburn 3/29/2010
457. Winter: A Dirge 12/31/2002
458. My Bonnie Mary 1/4/2003
459. Despondency -- An Ode 5/13/2001
460. Handsome Nell 5/13/2001
461. Love In The Guise Of Friendship 3/29/2010
462. Battle Of Sherramuir, The 12/31/2002
463. Ye Banks And Braes O'Bonnie Doon 1/13/2003
464. Banks O' Doon, The 12/31/2002
465. Anna, Thy Charms 1/1/2004
466. Cotter's Saturday Night, The 12/31/2002
467. Lament For Culloden 1/4/2003
468. Scots Wha Hae 12/31/2002
469. For A' That And A' That 5/13/2001
470. In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer 12/31/2002
471. John Anderson My Jo 1/3/2003
472. Willie Wastle 12/31/2002
473. John Barleycorn: A Ballad 5/13/2001
474. Bonie Doon 5/13/2001
475. The Farewell 1/4/2003
476. I Dream'D I Lay 12/31/2002
477. Jean 1/4/2003
478. Fareweel To A'Our Scottish Fame 1/13/2003
479. My Highland Lassie, O 12/31/2002
480. Holy Willie's Prayer 5/13/2001

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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