Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

481. A Fiddler In The North 1/1/2004
482. Scotch Drink 12/31/2002
483. A Poets's Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter 5/13/2001
484. To A Louse 12/31/2002
485. Halloween 1/1/2004
486. Carigieburn Wood 5/13/2001
487. Song—Composed in Spring 5/13/2001
488. Willie Wastle 12/31/2002
489. Green Grow The Rashes 1/13/2003
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 Tooth-Ache 5/13/2001
499. Tam O' Shanter 12/31/2002
500. Address To The Devil 5/13/2001
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. To A Mouse 12/31/2002
507. Auld Lang Syne 5/13/2001
508. My Heart's In The Highlands 1/13/2003
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 Man's A Man For A' That

Is there for honesty poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave - we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that,
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon ...

Read the full of A Man's A Man For A' That

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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