Robert Burns Poetry

Address To A Haggis Poem Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ yet tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o’a grace As lang’s my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin was help to mend […]

My Native Land Sae Far Awa Poem Robert Burns O sad and heavy, should I part, But for her sake, sae far awa; Unknowing what my way may thwart, My native land sae far awa. Thou that of a’ things Maker art, That formed this Fair sae far awa, Gie body strength, then I’ll ne’er […]

Tam O’ Shanter Poem A Tale. Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke. Gawin Douglas. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An’ getting fou and unco happy, We […]

I Reign In Jeanie’s Bosom Robert Burns Poetry Louis, what reck I by thee, Or Geordie on his ocean? Dyvor, beggar louns to me, I reign in Jeanie’s bosom! Let her crown my love her law, And in her breast enthrone me, Kings and nations—swith awa’! Reif randies, I disown ye! It Is Na, Jean, […]

Robert Burns Poem Epistle To John Maxwell, ESQ., Of Terraughty On His Birthday. Health to the Maxwell’s veteran Chief! Health, aye unsour’d by care or grief: Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl leaf, This natal morn, I see thy life is stuff o’ prief, Scarce quite half-worn. This day thou metes threescore eleven, And I can […]

Robert Burns Poem Epitaph On Wm. Hood, Senr., In Tarbolton Here Souter Hood in death does sleep; To hell if he’s gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep; He’ll haud it weel thegither.

The Bard At Inverary Poem Whoe’er he be that sojourns here, I pity much his case, Unless he comes to wait upon The Lord their God, His Grace. There’s naething here but Highland pride, And Highland scab and hunger: If Providence has sent me here, ‘Twas surely in his anger.

On Chloris Poem Robert Burns Requesting me to give her a Spring of Blossomed Thorn. From the white-blossom’d sloe my dear Chloris requested A sprig, her fair breast to adorn: No, by Heavens! I exclaim’d, let me perish, if ever I plant in that bosom a thorn!

Her Answer Robert Burns Poetry O tell na me o’ wind an’ rain, Upbraid na me wi’ cauld disdain, Gae back the gate ye cam again, I winna let ye in, jo. Chorus—I tell you now this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; And ance for a’ this ae night, I winna let ye […]

Robert Burns – Lady Mary Ann Poem O lady Mary Ann looks o’er the Castle wa’, She saw three bonie boys playing at the ba’, The youngest he was the flower amang them a’, My bonie laddie’s young, but he’s growin’ yet. O father, O father, an ye think it fit, We’ll send him a […]