Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

201. 152. Extempore In The Court Of Session 10/24/2014
202. Death And Dr. Hornbook 10/24/2014
203. Poem On Pastoral Poetry 10/24/2014
204. Epigram On Andrew Turner 10/25/2014
205. Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Here 10/25/2014
206. Epitaph On James Grieve 10/25/2014
207. On Elphinstone's Translation Of Martial's Epigrams 10/25/2014
208. My Lord A-Hunting He Is Gane 10/25/2014
209. Versified Reply To An Invitation 10/25/2014
210. Scroggam, My Dearie 10/25/2014
211. Song—by Allan Stream 11/15/2014
212. Epitaph For James Smith 11/15/2014
213. Complimentary Epigram To Mrs. Riddell 11/15/2014
214. Song—of A' The Airts The Wind Can Blaw 11/15/2014
215. Stanzas, On The Same Occasion 11/15/2014
216. Address Spoken By Miss Fontenelle 11/15/2014
217. Ballad On Mr. Heron's Election—no. 1 11/15/2014
218. Song—the Bonie Moor-Hen 11/14/2014
219. Ode For General Washington's Birthday 11/14/2014
220. The Twa Herds; Or, The Holy Tulyie 11/14/2014
221. Song—had I A Cave 11/14/2014
222. Frae The Friends And Land I Love 10/25/2014
223. On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies 10/27/2014
224. Grace Before And After Meat 10/27/2014
225. Verses Written With A Pencil At The Inn At Kenmore 11/15/2014
226. Song—m'Pherson's Farewell 11/15/2014
227. Song—my Collier Laddie 11/15/2014
228. Sketch In Verse, Inscribed To The Right Hon. C. J. Fox 11/15/2014
229. Song—the Bonie Wee Thing 11/15/2014
230. Song—behold, My Love, How Green The Groves 11/15/2014
231. Song—i Hae A Wife O' My Ain 11/15/2014
232. Song—fairest Maid On Devon's Banks 11/15/2014
233. Song—the Young Highland Rover 11/15/2014
234. Song—guid Ale Keeps The Heart Aboon 11/15/2014
235. Song—sic A Wife As Willie Had 11/15/2014
236. Song—the Lass Of Cessnock Banks 11/15/2014
237. Apology To Mr. Syme For Not Dining With Him 11/15/2014
238. Song—kissing My Katie 10/27/2014
239. Farewell To The Banks Of Ayr 10/27/2014
240. Epitaph On &Quot;Wee Johnnie&Quot; 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

John Anderson My Jo

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonny brow was brent;
But now your brow is bled, John,
Your locks are like the straw,
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo!

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