Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

481. Willie Wastle 12/31/2002
482. Scotch Drink 12/31/2002
483. John Barleycorn: A Ballad 5/13/2001
484. A Poets's Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter 5/13/2001
485. Carigieburn Wood 5/13/2001
486. Scots, Wha Hae Wi' Wallace Bled 1/13/2003
487. Song—Composed in Spring 5/13/2001
488. Green Grow The Rashes 1/13/2003
489. To A Louse 12/31/2002
490. Coming Through The Rye 1/13/2003
491. Highland Mary 5/13/2001
492. A Dedication 1/1/2004
493. Address To The Unco Guid 1/1/2004
494. Auld Farmer's New-Year-Morning 12/31/2002
495. To A Kiss 12/31/2002
496. Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear 5/13/2001
497. Afton Water 5/13/2001
498. Address To The Devil 5/13/2001
499. Address To The Tooth-Ache 5/13/2001
500. Tam O' Shanter 12/31/2002
501. Address To A Haggis 12/31/2002
502. A Bard's Epitaph 1/1/2004
503. Ae Fond Kiss 5/13/2001
504. A Dream 1/1/2004
505. A Bottle And Friend 1/1/2004
506. Auld Lang Syne 5/13/2001
507. A Winter Night 5/13/2001
508. To A Mouse 12/31/2002
509. My Heart's In The Highlands 1/13/2003
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

To A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
What makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the ...

Read the full of To A Mouse

The Rigs O' Barley

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held away to Annie:
The time flew by wi' tentless heed
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion, she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

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