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My heart is sair-I dare na tell, My heart is sair for Somebody.

Robert Burns

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Robert Burns
Age: 37 †
Born: 1759
Born: January 25
Died: 1796
Died: July 21
Farmer
Musicologist
Poet
Songwriter
Writer
Robbie Burns
Rabbie Burns
Scotland's favourite son
Ploughman Poet
Robden of Solway Firth
Bard of Ayrshire
The Bard
Robert Burns
Longing
Dare
Somebody
Tell
Heart

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Now's the day and now's the hour.
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Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.
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The best plans of men and mice often go awry.
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O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!
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His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
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Firmness in enduring and exertion is a character I always wish to possess. I have always despised the whining yelp of complaint and cowardly resolve.
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If naebody care for me,I'll care for naebody.
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My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
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Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!
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When matters are desperate we must put on a desperate face.
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Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet To think how monie counsels sweet, How monie lengthened sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises.
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How wretched is the person who hangs on by the favors of the powerful.
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The voice of Nature loudly cries,And many a message from the skies,That something in us never dies.
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For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor.
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Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
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What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
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The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie, For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.
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Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sunny noon Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon Not the poet, in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me.
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