Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

281. On The Seas And Far Away 10/24/2014
282. 379. Song—fragment—love For Love 10/24/2014
283. Lovely Polly Stewart 10/25/2014
284. Epitaph For William Nicol, High School, Edinburgh 10/25/2014
285. Epitaph On A Lap-Dog 11/14/2014
286. The Laddie's Dear Sel' 10/27/2014
287. Jamie, Come Try Me 10/27/2014
288. The Lament 11/15/2014
289. Epigram On A Country Laird (Cardoness) 11/15/2014
290. Song—on A Bank Of Flowers 11/15/2014
291. Epitaph On My Ever Honoured Father 10/24/2014
292. To The Beautiful Miss Eliza J——n, On Her Principles Of Liberty And Eqality 10/24/2014
293. Inscription To Chloris 10/24/2014
294. A Grace After Dinner 10/24/2014
295. A Grace After Dinner 10/24/2014
296. My Girl She's Airy: A Fragment 10/24/2014
297. Birthday Ode For 31st December, 1787 10/25/2014
298. The Whistle: A Ballad 10/25/2014
299. Song—whistle And I'Ll Come To You 11/15/2014
300. Fragment Of Song—&Quot;My Jean!&Quot; 11/15/2014
301. Song—the Highland Balou 11/14/2014
302. Stanzas On Naething 11/14/2014
303. Lines Written On A Bank-Note 11/15/2014
304. To Ruin 10/25/2014
305. Another On The Said Occasion 10/25/2014
306. Inconstancy In Love 10/25/2014
307. Thine Am I, My Faithful Fair 10/25/2014
308. My Bonie Bell 10/24/2014
309. How Cruel Are The Parents 10/24/2014
310. A Prayer Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish 10/25/2014
311. The Bookworms 11/14/2014
312. Bonie Jean: A Ballad 11/15/2014
313. Address To Beelzebub 11/15/2014
314. Epigram On Politics 11/15/2014
315. My Lord A-Hunting He Is Gane 10/25/2014
316. Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet 10/25/2014
317. My Father Was A Farmer: A Ballad 10/24/2014
318. Song—my Wife's A Winsome Wee Thing 11/15/2014
319. Song—composed In August 11/15/2014
320. Nature's Law: A Poem 10/24/2014

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

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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