Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

481. Scots Wha Hae 12/31/2002
482. A Dream 1/1/2004
483. Halloween 1/1/2004
484. The Farewell 1/4/2003
485. A Grace After Dinner 10/24/2014
486. Tam O' Shanter 12/31/2002
487. Address To The Tooth-Ache 5/13/2001
488. John Barleycorn: A Ballad 5/13/2001
489. Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear 5/13/2001
490. Afton Water 5/13/2001
491. Love In The Guise Of Friendship 3/29/2010
492. The Soldier's Return: A Ballad 10/25/2014
493. Coming Through The Rye 1/13/2003
494. Scotch Drink 12/31/2002
495. Winter: A Dirge 12/31/2002
496. The Twa Dogs 3/29/2010
497. Up In The Morning Early 12/31/2002
498. To A Kiss 12/31/2002
499. A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk 10/24/2014
500. My Highland Lassie, O 12/31/2002
501. Green Grow The Rashes 1/13/2003
502. Address To A Haggis 12/31/2002
503. Willie Wastle 12/31/2002
504. To A Louse 12/31/2002
505. A Bottle And Friend 1/1/2004
506. Auld Lang Syne 5/13/2001
507. A Man's A Man For A' That 5/13/2001
508. A Winter Night 5/13/2001
509. A Fond Kiss 1/3/2003
510. My Heart's In The Highlands 1/13/2003
511. To A Mouse 12/31/2002
512. A Red, Red Rose 5/13/2001

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

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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