Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

121. Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer 11/15/2014
122. Song—montgomerie's Peggy 11/15/2014
123. Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson 11/15/2014
124. Ballad On Mr. Heron's Election—no. 2 11/15/2014
125. Song—phillis The Fair 11/15/2014
126. Epistle To John Maxwell, Esq., Of Terraughty 11/15/2014
127. Song—blythe Hae I Been On Yon Hill 11/15/2014
128. Song—kellyburn Braes 11/15/2014
129. Song—down The Burn, Davie Love 11/15/2014
130. Song—such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation 11/15/2014
131. Song—out Over The Forth 11/15/2014
132. I'Ll Go And Be A Sodger 11/15/2014
133. Prayer—o Thou Dread Power 11/15/2014
134. Song—to Daunton Me 11/15/2014
135. Song—highland Harry Back Again 11/15/2014
136. Here's His Health In Water 11/15/2014
137. Song—my Native Land Sae Far Awa 11/15/2014
138. What Can A Young Lassie Do Wi' An Auld Man? 11/15/2014
139. Song—my Nanie's Awa 11/14/2014
140. Scots Prologue For Mr. Sutherland 11/14/2014
141. Song—the Rigs O' Barley 11/14/2014
142. The First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified 11/14/2014
143. Here's To Thy Health, My Bonie Lass 11/11/2014
144. Epitaph For Mr. W. Cruickshank 11/6/2014
145. The Five Carlins: An Election Ballad 11/6/2014
146. O Leave Novels! 11/6/2014
147. O Aye My Wife She Dang Me 10/27/2014
148. Where Are The Joys I Have Met 10/27/2014
149. Epistle To Mrs. Scott Of Wauchope House 10/27/2014
150. Saw You My Dear, My Philly 10/27/2014
151. Inscription For An Alter Of Independence 10/25/2014
152. Fickle Fortune: A Fragment 10/25/2014
153. The Calf 10/25/2014
154. Epigram On Dr. Babington's Looks 10/25/2014
155. Sylvander To Clarinda 10/25/2014
156. Epitaph On A Henpecked Squire 10/25/2014
157. Reply To An Announcement By J. Rankine 10/25/2014
158. Thou Gloomy December 10/25/2014
159. The Bonie Lass Of Albany 10/25/2014
160. The Dean Of Faculty: A New Ballad 10/25/2014

Comments about Robert Burns

  • Satan Satan (10/7/2016 3:56:00 AM)

    these poems r gr9 well done robert x

    25 person liked.
    28 person did not like.
  • 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

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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