Robert Burns

(1759-1796 / Ayrshire / Scotland)

Robert Burns Poems

321. My Father Was A Farmer: A Ballad 10/24/2014
322. Verses On A Parting Kiss 10/25/2014
323. Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet 10/25/2014
324. Song—my Wife's A Winsome Wee Thing 11/15/2014
325. My Highland Lassie, O 11/15/2014
326. Song—composed In August 11/15/2014
327. Impromptu On Carron Iron Works 10/25/2014
328. Man Was Made To Mourn: A Dirge 10/25/2014
329. Nature's Law: A Poem 10/24/2014
330. The Fall Of The Leaf 10/24/2014
331. A Prayer In The Prospect Of Death 10/24/2014
332. Caledonia: A Ballad 11/14/2014
333. One Night As I Did Wander 11/14/2014
334. The Henpecked Husband 10/27/2014
335. Open The Door To Me, Oh 10/25/2014
336. Written By Somebody On The Window Of An Inn At Stirling 10/25/2014
337. I Love My Love In Secret 10/25/2014
338. The Rights Of Women—spoken By Miss Fontenelle 10/24/2014
339. 314. Song—there'Ll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame 10/24/2014
340. The Vision 10/25/2014
341. Farewell To Eliza 10/25/2014
342. Song—the Winter Of Life 11/15/2014
343. The Song Of Death 10/24/2014
344. I Murder Hate 10/24/2014
345. Ballad On The American War 10/25/2014
346. Epigram On A Suicide 10/24/2014
347. A Mother's Lament For Her Son's Death 10/24/2014
348. Sonnet On The Author's Birthday 10/24/2014
349. Song—farewell To The Highlands 10/24/2014
350. 357. A Grace Before Dinner 10/24/2014
351. The Soldier's Return: A Ballad 10/25/2014
352. Lines To An Old Sweetheart 10/24/2014
353. 89. The Ordination 10/24/2014
354. Epitaph On William Muir 10/24/2014
355. A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk 10/24/2014
356. The Ronalds Of The Bennals 3/29/2010
357. Whistle Ow'R The Lave O'T 3/29/2010
358. The Bold Princess Royal 3/29/2010
359. Sweet Tibbie Dunbar 3/29/2010
360. The Hairst O' Rettie 3/29/2010

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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