All Poems

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555. SongO wert thou in the cauld blast

© Robert Burns

O WERT thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
Id shelter thee, Id shelter thee;

The dawn is here! I climb the hill;
The earth is young and strangely still;
A tender green is showing where
But yesterday my fields were bare. . . .
I climb and, as I climb, I sing;
The dawn is here, and with it - spring!

506. Epigram on Mr. James Gracie

© Robert Burns

GRACIE, thou art a man of worth,
O be thou Dean for ever!
May he be dd to hell henceforth,
Who fauts thy weight or measure!

The Prophet

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air
Which common people seek, yet cannot bear,
Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye
The fire of one who cries "I prophesy!"

464. The Highland Widows Lament

© Robert Burns

OH I am come to the low Countrie,
Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie!
Without a penny in my purse,
To buy a meal to me.

Upon A Looking Glass

© John Bunyan

In this see thou thy beauty, hast thou any,
Or thy defects, should they be few or many.
Thou may'st, too, here thy spots and freckles see,
Hast thou but eyes, and what their numbers be.
But art thou blind? There is no looking-glass
Can show thee thy defects, thy spots, or face.

301. Lines to a Gentleman who sent a Newspaper

© Robert Burns

KIND Sir, Ive read your paper through,
And faith, to me, twas really new!
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
This mony a day Ive graind and gaunted,

Gulliver

© Sylvia Plath

Over your body the clouds go
High, high and icily
And a little flat, as if they

86. The Auld Farmers New-Year-Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie

© Robert Burns

Weve worn to crazy years thegither;
Well toyte about wi ane anither;
Wi tentie care Ill flit thy tether
To some haind rig,
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi sma fatigue.

Beauty Sat Bathing by a Spring

© Anthony Munday

Beauty sat bathing by a spring
Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.

536. SongThis is no my ain lassie

© Robert Burns

ChorusThis is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho, the lassie be;
Weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her ere.

457. Epitaph on Wm. Graham, Esq., of Mossknowe

© Robert Burns

STOP thief! dame Nature calld to Death,
As Willy drew his latest breath;
How shall I make a fool again?
My choicest model thou hast taen.

423. Epigram on the Laird of Laggan

© Robert Burns

WHEN Morine, deceasd, to the Devil went down,
Twas nothing would serve him but Satans own crown;
Thy fools head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never,
I grant thourt as wicked, but not quite so clever.