Robert Burns Poetry

The Book-Worms Poem Through and through th’ inspir’d leaves, Ye maggots, make your windings; But O respect his lordship’s taste, And spare his golden bindings.

Fragment On Sensibility Robert Burns Poetry Rusticity’s ungainly form May cloud the highest mind; But when the heart is nobly warm, The good excuse will find. Propriety’s cold, cautious rules Warm fervour may o’erlook: But spare poor sensibility Th’ ungentle, harsh rebuke.

SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. David Sillar, to whom these epistles are addressed, was at that time master of a country school, and was welcome to Burns both as a scholar and a writer of verse. This epistle he prefixed to his poems printed at Kilmarnock in the year 1789: he loved to […]

Robert Burns – Lines On The Fall Of Fyers Near Loch-Ness. Poem Written with a Pencil on the Spot. Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, thro’ a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. As high in air the bursting […]

Postcript Poetry My memory’s no worth a preen; I had amaist forgotten clean, Ye bade me write you what they mean By this new-light, ‘Bout which our herds sae aft hae been Maist like to fight. In days when mankind were but callans At grammar, logic, an’ sic talents, They took nae pains their speech […]

Postscript Poetry Ye’ve heard this while how I’ve been lickit, And by fell Death was nearly nickit; Grim loon! he got me by the fecket, And sair me sheuk; But by gude luck I lap a wicket, And turn’d a neuk. But by that health, I’ve got a share o’t, But by that life, I’m […]

Address To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee Poem With an Impression of the Author’s Portrait. Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, Of Stuart, a name once respected; A name, which to love was the mark of a true heart, But now ’tis despis’d and neglected. Tho’ something like moisture conglobes in my eye, Let no one […]

Impromptu Lines To Captain Riddell Robert Burns Poetry On Returning a Newspaper. Your News and Review, sir. I’ve read through and through, sir, With little admiring or blaming; The Papers are barren Of home-news or foreign, No murders or rapes worth the naming. Our friends, the Reviewers, Those chippers and hewers, Are judges of mortar […]

O Aye My Wife She Dang Me Poem Robert Burns Chorus—O aye my wife she dang me, An’ aft my wife she bang’d me, If ye gie a woman a’ her will, Gude faith! she’ll soon o’er-gang ye. On peace an’ rest my mind was bent, And, fool I was! I married; But never honest […]

Robert Burns – Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer Poem This wot ye all whom it concerns, I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, October twenty-third, [Footnote 1: At the house of Professor Dugald Stewart.] A ne’er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I sprackl’d up the brae, I dinner’d wi’ a Lord. I’ve been at drucken writers’ feasts, Nay, […]