Welcome to our Robert Burns poems

Robert Bunrs Poems

Robert Burns poems are know the world over. As Scotland’s national bard his poetry and songs have been celebrated and argued about for over 200 years. He covered many subjects: love, politics, religion, nature and death amongst others. His gentle (and not so gentle) mocking ways took down pomposity and arrogance in extablished hierarchical institutions.

Initially feted by the Edinburgh literary elite his support for the principles of the French revolution saw him shunned and he returned to the west of Scotland where he died at a young age.

We hope you enjoy the Robert Burns poems here and delve into them from time to time. Human nature doesn’t change; the classics can still seem fresh to us today.

We encourage to explore these wonderful poems, particularly around his birthday on the 25th January but also all year round. Dinnae be a sleekit wee beastie wi’ his works……

The Rights Of Woman

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:04+00:001792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings; While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention. First, in the Sexes' intermix'd connection,

The Slave’s Lament

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:04+00:001792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, For the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O. All on

The Weary Pund O’ Tow

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:05+00:001792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Chorus.-The weary pund, the weary pund, The weary pund o' tow; I think my wife will end her life, Before she spin her tow. I bought my wife a staneo' lint, As gudeas e'erdid grow, And a'that she has made o' that Is aepuirpundo' tow. The weary pund, &c. There sat a bottle in a

When She Cam’ Ben She Bobbed

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:05+00:001792, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

O when she cam' ben she bobbed fu' law, O when she cam' benshe bobbedfu'law, And when she cam' ben, she kiss'd Cockpen, And synedenied she did it at a'. And was na Cockpen right saucy witha'? And was naCockpen right saucy witha'? In leaving the daughter of a lord, And kissin' a collier lassie

Fragment Of Song

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:28:05+00:001792, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

No cold approach, no altered mien, Just what would make suspicion start; Nopause the dire extremes between, He made me blest-and broke my heart.

The Gallant Weaver

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:52+00:001791, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, Bymony a flower and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant Weaver. O, I had wooers aughtornine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was fear'd my heart wadtine, And I giedit to the Weaver. My daddie sign'd my

The Keekin’-Glass

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:52+00:001791, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

How daurye ca'me howlet-face, Ye blear-e'ed, withered spectre? Ye only spied the keekin'-glass, An'there ye sawyour picture.

The Posie

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:52+00:001791, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

O luve will venture in where it daurnaweel be seen, O luvewill venture in where wisdom ancehas been; But I will doun yonriver rove, amangthe wood sae green, And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink,

The Song Of Death

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:58+00:001791, Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type, Year|

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the broad setting sun; Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, Our race of existence is run! Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life's gloomy foe! Go, frighten the coward and slave; Go, teach them to tremble, felltyrant! butknow Noterrors hast

The Toadeater

ed mccabe2018-11-12T18:27:53+00:001791, Poem, Robert Burns Poems, Type, Year|

Of Lordly acquaintance you boast, And the Dukes that you dined wi'yestreen, Yet an insect's aninsect at most, Tho' it crawl on the curl of a Queen!

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