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And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale.

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
Dale
Scatter
Wild
Green

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As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.
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O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!
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Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
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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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Here's to us, who's like us Damn few, and they're all dead.
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Suspense is worse than disappointment.
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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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God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.
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The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
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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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For thus the royal mandate ran, When first the human race began, The social, friendly honest man, Whate'er he be, Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, And none but he!
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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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Some books are lies frae end to end.
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The heart that is generous and kind most resembles God.
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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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What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
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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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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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Oh would some power the gift give us, to see ourselves as others see us!
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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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