Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

481. Bonie Doon 5/13/2001
482. To A Louse 12/31/2002
483. Fareweel To A'Our Scottish Fame 1/13/2003
484. I Dream'D I Lay 12/31/2002
485. Halloween 1/1/2004
486. Song—Composed in Spring 5/13/2001
487. To A Kiss 12/31/2002
488. Holy Willie's Prayer 5/13/2001
489. Highland Mary 5/13/2001
490. A Dedication 1/1/2004
491. A Poets's Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter 5/13/2001
492. Carigieburn Wood 5/13/2001
493. Coming Through The Rye 1/13/2003
494. Address To The Devil 5/13/2001
495. Auld Farmer's New-Year-Morning 12/31/2002
496. Address To The Tooth-Ache 5/13/2001
497. Address To The Unco Guid 1/1/2004
498. Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear 5/13/2001
499. Tam O' Shanter 12/31/2002
500. Afton Water 5/13/2001
501. Ae Fond Kiss 5/13/2001
502. A Bard's Epitaph 1/1/2004
503. A Bottle And Friend 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. To A Mouse 12/31/2002
508. Auld Lang Syne 5/13/2001
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

  • 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.

    47 person liked.
    32 person did not like.
  • 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

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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