41. Epistle to John Rankine (Robert Burns Poems)
O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin! There's mony godly folks are thinkin, Your ...
O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin! There's mony godly folks are thinkin, Your ...
O WHA will to Saint Stephen's House, To do our errands there, man? O wha will to Saint Stephen's House ...
THE WIND blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods, That ...
WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour, Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, Far south ...
WHEN chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin ...
O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wished, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, ...
FINTRY, my stay in wordly strife, Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life, Are ye as idle's I am? ...
NAE heathen name shall I prefix, Frae Pindus or Parnassus; Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks, For rhyme-inspiring lasses. ...
A Tale "Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke." -Gawin Douglas. When chapman billies leave the street, And ...
GUID-MORNIN' to our Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, A humble poet wishes. My ...
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear Too calm and sad a face in front of thine; For we ...
I. I stand on the mark beside the shore Of the first white pilgrim's bended knee, Where exile turned to ...
Thou fair hair'd angel of the evening, Now, while the sun rests on the mountains light, Thy bright torch of ...
How sweet I roam'd from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride 'Til the prince of love beheld ...
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; ...
A Robin Redbreast in a cage, Puts all Heaven in a rage. A skylark wounded on the wing Doth make ...
The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision's greatest enemy. Thine has a great hook nose like ...
Little Fly Thy summers play, My thoughtless hand Has brush'd away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art ...
To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the ...
I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his ...
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