28. Poor Mailie’s Elegy (Robert Burns Poems)
LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; Our bardie's fate is at a close, ...
LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; Our bardie's fate is at a close, ...
AS Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, ...
IN this strange land, this uncouth clime, A land unknown to prose or rhyme; Where words ne'er cross't the Muse's ...
UPON 1 a simmer Sunday morn When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuff ...
MY father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; ...
SOME books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn'd: Ev'n ministers they hae been ...
I THINK we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope Indeed beyond ...
MY future will not copy fair my past On any leaf but Heaven's. Be fully done Supernal Will ! I ...
"I die, I die!" the Mother said, "My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless Tyrant ...
Come, kings, and listen to my song: When Gwin, the son of Nore, Over the nations of the North His ...
1.1 "What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song? 1.2 Or wisdom for a dance ...
"I die, I die!" the Mother said, "My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless Tyrant ...
AFRICA I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet: He sung it to four harps at the ...
I saw a chapel all of gold That none did dare to enter in, And many weeping stood without, Weeping, ...
The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision's greatest enemy. Thine has a great hook nose like ...
MY Spectre around me night and day Like a wild beast guards my way; My Emanation far within Weeps incessantly ...
I hold my honey and I store my bread In little jars and cabinets of my will. I label clearly, ...
Rudolph Reed was oaken. His wife was oaken too. And his two good girls and his good little man Oakened ...
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and ...
at high noon at a small college near the beach sober the sweat running down my arms a spot of ...
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the ...
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