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The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O.

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
Loved
Men
Life
Dearly
Wisest
Saws

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Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
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Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
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There's some are fou o' love divine There's some are fou o' brandy.
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The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
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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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Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O!
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But deep this truth impressed my mind — Thro' all his works abroad, The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God.
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Painters and poets have liberty to lie.
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Suspense is worst than disappointment.
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Learn taciturnity and let that be your motto!
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But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever. Had we never lou'd sae kindly, Had we never lou'd sae blindly, Never met - or never parted - We had ne'er been broken hearted
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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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Life is but a day at most.
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As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.
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Now's the day and now's the hour.
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Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now 's the day and now 's the hour See the front o' battle lour.
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Again rejoicing Nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in the morning dews.
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To make three guineas do the work of five.
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Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.
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Oh would some power the gift give us, to see ourselves as others see us!
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