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Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire.

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
Sparks
Teaching
Teacher
Learning
Fire
Teach
Desire
Nature
Spark

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I'm truly sorry man's dominion has broken Nature's social union.
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Great for good, or great for evil.
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Anticipation forward points the view.
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I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an officer resigns a commission.
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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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Why has a religious turn of mind always a tendency to narrow and harden the heart?
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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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Nae man can tether time or tide The hour approachesTam maun ride That hour, o'night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hourTam mounts his beast in.
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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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Dare to be honest and fear no labor.
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The best laid plans take 40 years to complete.
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The upright, honest-hearted man Who strives to do the best he can, Need never fear the church's ban Or hell's damnation.
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Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
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Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme / My barmie noddle's working prime.
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Affliction's sons are brothers in distress A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!
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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
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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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Some books are lies frae end to end.
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What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns and stools If honest nature made you fools.
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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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