Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

161. Song—bonie Peggy Alison 11/15/2014
162. The Poet's Progress 11/15/2014
163. Song—braw Lads O' Gala Water 11/15/2014
164. Inscription To Jessie Lewars 11/15/2014
165. Epigram On Rough Roads 11/11/2014
166. Song—lady Mary Ann 11/14/2014
167. Song—charlie, He's My Darling 11/14/2014
168. Fragment—her Flwoing Locks 11/6/2014
169. The Wounded Hare 11/6/2014
170. Song—fragment—johnie Lad, Cock Up Your Beaver 11/6/2014
171. Epigram To Miss Ainslie In Church 10/27/2014
172. You'Re Welcome, Willie Stewart 10/27/2014
173. Elegy On Stella 11/15/2014
174. Song—the Captive Ribband 11/15/2014
175. Impromptu Lines To Captain Riddell 11/15/2014
176. Song—wandering Willie (Revised Version) 11/15/2014
177. News, Lassies, News 10/25/2014
178. Behold The Hour, The Boat, Arrive 10/25/2014
179. Suppressed Stanzas Of &Quot;The Vision&Quot; 10/25/2014
180. Address To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee 10/25/2014
181. Epitaph On The Same 10/25/2014
182. Verses On Captain Grose 10/25/2014
183. Tam Samson's Elegy 10/25/2014
184. Poem On Sensibility 10/25/2014
185. Ballad On Mr. Heron's Election—no. 4 10/25/2014
186. Remorse: A Fragment 10/24/2014
187. The Brigs Of Ayr 10/24/2014
188. On Tam The Chapman 10/24/2014
189. To The Beautiful Miss Eliza J——n, On Her Principles Of Liberty And Eqality 10/24/2014
190. Masonic Song—ye Sons Of Old Killie 10/24/2014
191. Sweet Afton 10/24/2014
192. Election Ballad At Close Of Contest For Representing The Dumfries Burghs, 1790 10/24/2014
193. 152. Extempore In The Court Of Session 10/24/2014
194. Death And Dr. Hornbook 10/24/2014
195. Poem On Pastoral Poetry 10/24/2014
196. Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Here 10/25/2014
197. Epitaph On James Grieve 10/25/2014
198. Epigram On Andrew Turner 10/25/2014
199. On Elphinstone's Translation Of Martial's Epigrams 10/25/2014
200. My Lord A-Hunting He Is Gane 10/25/2014

Comments about Robert Burns

  • 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.

    16 person liked.
    32 person did not like.
  • 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

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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