Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

481. I Dream'D I Lay 12/31/2002
482. Fareweel To A'Our Scottish Fame 1/13/2003
483. Green Grow The Rashes 1/13/2003
484. Holy Willie's Prayer 5/13/2001
485. Halloween 1/1/2004
486. A Fiddler In The North 1/1/2004
487. A Poets's Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter 5/13/2001
488. Carigieburn Wood 5/13/2001
489. Song—Composed in Spring 5/13/2001
490. To A Kiss 12/31/2002
491. To A Louse 12/31/2002
492. Coming Through The Rye 1/13/2003
493. Highland Mary 5/13/2001
494. Address To The Unco Guid 1/1/2004
495. A Dedication 1/1/2004
496. Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear 5/13/2001
497. Ae Fond Kiss 5/13/2001
498. Address To The Tooth-Ache 5/13/2001
499. Afton Water 5/13/2001
500. Address To The Devil 5/13/2001
501. Tam O' Shanter 12/31/2002
502. A Bottle And Friend 1/1/2004
503. A Bard's Epitaph 1/1/2004
504. Address To A Haggis 12/31/2002
505. A Dream 1/1/2004
506. My Heart's In The Highlands 1/13/2003
507. Auld Lang Syne 5/13/2001
508. To A Mouse 12/31/2002
509. A Winter Night 5/13/2001
510. A Man's A Man For A' That 5/13/2001
511. A Fond Kiss 1/3/2003
512. A Red, Red Rose 5/13/2001

Comments about Robert Burns

  • 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,

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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

To A Louse

On Seeing One on a Lady's Bonnet at Church

Ha! whare ye gaun' ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace,
Tho faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

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