All Poems
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278. On the late Captain Groses Peregrinations
© Robert Burns
Now, by the Powrs o verse and prose!
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose!
Whaeer o thee shall ill suppose,
They sair misca thee;
Id take the rascal by the nose,
Wad say, Shame fa thee!
243. Elegy on the Year 1788
© Robert Burns
FOR lords or kings I dinna mourn,
Een let them die-for that theyre born:
But oh! prodigious to reflec!
A Towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck!
111. Address to Beelzebub
© Robert Burns
LONG life, my Lord, an health be yours,
Unskaithed by hungerd Highland boors;
Lord grant me nae duddie, desperate beggar,
Wi dirk, claymore, and rusty trigger,
The Eagle and the Dove
© William Wordsworth
SHADE of Caractacus, if spirits love
The cause they fought for in their earthly home
To see the Eagle ruffled by the Dove
May soothe thy memory of the chains of Rome.
432. SongBehold the hour, etc. (Second Version)
© Robert Burns
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;
Thou goest, the darling of my heart;
Severd from thee, can I survive,
But Fate has willd and we must part.
420. Lines of John MMurdo, Esq.
© Robert Burns
BLEST be MMurdo to his latest day!
No envious cloud oercast his evening ray;
No wrinkle, furrowd by the hand of care,
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair!
O may no son the fathers honour stain,
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain!
315. SongOut over the Forth
© Robert Burns
OUT over the Forth, I look to the North;
But what is the north and its Highlands to me?
The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,
The far foreign land, or the wide rolling sea.
20. Stanzas, on the same Occasion
© Robert Burns
WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene?
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms?
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between
Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms,
305. SongGudewife, count the lawin
© Robert Burns
GANE is the day, and mirks the night,
But well neer stray for faut o light;
Gude ale and bratdys stars and moon,
And blue-red wines the risin sun.
A Patriot
© Hristo Botev
A patriot be - for knowledge, freedom,
The soul's too small a price to pay!
Mind you, not his soul, my brothers,
The nation's soul he'll give away!
142. Epistle to Major Logan
© Robert Burns
Nae mair at present can I measure,
An trowth my rhymin wares nae treasure;
But when in Ayr, some half-hours leisure,
Bet light, bet dark,
Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure
To call at Park.ROBERT BURNS.Mossgiel, 30th October, 1786.
The Boys
© James Whitcomb Riley
Where are they?--the friends of my childhood enchanted--
The clear, laughing eyes looking back in my own,
And the warm, chubby fingers my palms have so wanted,
As when we raced over
Pink pastures of clover,
And mocked the quail's whir and the bumblebee's drone?
440. Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle
© Robert Burns
I could no moreaskance the creature eyeing,
Dye think, said I, this face was made for crying?
Ill laugh, thats poznay more, the world shall know it;
And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet!
The House Across the Way
© Ralph Hodgson
The leaves looked in at the window
Of the house across the way,
393. Epigram on Politics
© Robert Burns
IN Politics if thou wouldst mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind,
Let great folk hear and see.
The Father
© Muriel Stuart
The evening found us whom the day had fled,
Once more in bitter anger, you and I,
299. SketchNew Years Day, 1790
© Robert Burns
THIS day, Time winds th exhausted chain;
To run the twelvemonths length again:
I see, the old bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
The Sign
© Guillaume Apollinaire
I am bound to the King of the Sign of Autumn
Parting I love the fruits I detest the flowers
I regret every one of the kisses that Ive given
Such a bitter walnut tells his grief to the showers
286. SongHighland Harry back again
© Robert Burns
MY Harry was a gallant gay,
Fu stately strade he on the plain;
But now hes banishd far away,
Ill never see him back again.
A Poem Beginning With A Line From Pindar
© Robert Duncan
But the eyes in Goyas painting are soft,
diffuse with rapture absorb the flame.
Their bodies yield out of strength.
Waves of visual pleasure
wrap them in a sorrow previous to their impatience.
