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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.

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
Horns
Flowing
Corn
Cheer
Wreath
Autumn
Wreaths
Yellow
Nodding
Plenty
Cheering
Fall
Horn

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Inspiring bold JohnBarleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!
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Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry?
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I pick my favourite quotations and store them in my mind as ready armour, offensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence.
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If naebody care for me,I'll care for naebody.
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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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Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o'daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea.
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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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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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Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
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A women can make an average man great, and a great man average.
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His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
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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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Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
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I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for nae-body If nae-body cares for me, I'll care for nae-body.
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How wretched is the person who hangs on by the favors of the powerful.
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Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An' raise a din For me, an aim I never fash I rhyme for fun.
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An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange For Deity offended!
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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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Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire.
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