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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!

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
Swear
Lovely
Tried
Class
Nature
Auld
Work
Swears
Made
Noblest
Men
Classes

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To step aside is human.
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There's some are fou o' love divine There's some are fou o' brandy.
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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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Inspiring bold JohnBarleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!
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Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
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But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever.
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God knows, I'm not the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be, But twenty times I rather would be An atheist clean, Than under gospel colours hid be Just for a screen.
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O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
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Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing.
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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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God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.
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While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention.
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Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme / My barmie noddle's working prime.
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The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O.
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Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us
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To see her is to love her, And love but her forever For nature made her what she is, And never made anither!
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For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor.
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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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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
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Life is but a day at most.
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