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The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley, And leave us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy.

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
Pain
Mice
Best
Promised
Men
Schemes
Laid
Disappointment
Grief
Leave
Nought
Joy
Gang

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Suspense is worse than disappointment.
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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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Look abroad through Nature's range, Nature's mighty law is change.
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Humid seal of soft affections, Tend'rest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
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To step aside is human.
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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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And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan A lady fair. Wha does the utmost that he can Will whyles do mair.
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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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The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.
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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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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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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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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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Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!
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Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays.
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Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.--Robert Burns
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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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That hour o' night's black arch the keystane.
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His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
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If there 's a hole in a' your coats, I rede ye tent it A chiel 's amang ye takin' notes, And, faith, he 'll prent it.
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