30 Poems of Robert Burns

A Man's A Man For A' That
Address To The Tooth-Ache
Again Rejoicing Nature Sees
Craigieburn Wood
Despondency An Ode
Handsome Nell
Here's A Health To Them That's Awa
Highland Mary
Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring
Mary Morison
My Nannie, O
Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green
O, Were My Love
On a Bank of Flowers
Scotch Drink
Scots Wha Hae
She Says She Lo'es Me Best Of A'
The Banks O' Doon
The Battle of Sherramuir
The Birks Of Aberfeldie
The Lass Of Cessnock Banks
The Rigs O' Barley
The Wounded Hare
Thou Lingering Star
To A Kiss
To A Louse
To a Mouse
To the Wood-Lark
A Man's A Man For A' That
Is there for honest poverty That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that, Our toils obscure an' a' that,   _
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,   _
Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.   _
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that,
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,   _
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,   _
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that.   _
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that,
The man o' independent mind   _
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,   _
A marquis, duke, an' a' that,
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!   _
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that,
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,   _
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,   _
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that,   _
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That man to man, the world o'er,   _
Shall brithers be for a' that.
Address To The Tooth-Ache
My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang;
And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang,   _
Wi' gnawing vengeance;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!   _

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes;   _
Our neighbors' sympathy may ease us,
Wi' pitying moan;
But thee thou hell o' a' diseases   _
They mock our groan!

Adown my beard the slavers trickle!   _
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
As round the fire the giglets keckle,
To see me loup;   _
While raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were in their doup.
O' a' the num'rous human dools,
Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools,   _
Sad sight to see!
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
Thou bear'st the gree .   _

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,   _
And rank'd plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu' raw,
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell   _
Amang them a'!

O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,   _
That gars the notes of discord squeel,
Till daft mankiud aft dance a reel
In gore a shoe-thick;   _
Gie a' the foes o' Scotland's weal
A towmond's Tooth-ache!
Again Rejoicing Nature Sees
Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues,
Her leafy looks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her ee? For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be!
In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing.
And maun I still...   _

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks,   _
But life to me 's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.
And maun I still...   _

The wanton coot the water skims,
Among the reeds the ducklings cry,   _
The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is blest but I.
And maun I still...   _

The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorlands whistles shill,   _
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.
And maun I still...   _

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,   _
And mounts and sings on fluttering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
And maun I still...   _

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree;   _
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When Nature all is sad like me!
And maun I still...   _

My Highland Lassie, O
Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show;   _
Gie me my Highland Lassie, O. Within the glen sae bushy, O, Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, I sit me down wi' right good will, To sing my Highland Lassie, O.

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,   _
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland Lassie, O. Within the glen...   _

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;   _
But while my crimson currents flow
I'll love my highland Lassie, O. Within the glen...
Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honor's glow,   _
My faithful highland Lassie, O. Within the glen...

For her I'll dare the billows' roar,   _
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland Lassie, O. Within the glen...   _

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred troth and honor's band!   _
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my highland Lassie, O. Farewell the glen sae bushy, O! Farewell the plain sae rushy, O! To other lands I now must go, To sing my Highland Lassie, O!
Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, A place where body saw na;
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness Rejoicing o'er his manna
Was naething to my hiney bliss
Upon the lips of Anna.   _

Ye Monarchs take the East and West
Frae Indus to Savannah:   _
Gie me within my straining grasp
The melting form of Anna!
There I'll despise Imperial charms,
An empress or sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms,   _
I give an' take wi' Anna!

Awa, thou flaunting God of Day!   _
Awa, thou pale Diana!
Ilk star, gae hide thy twinkling ray,
When I'm to meet my Anna!   _

Come, in thy raven plumage, Night
(Sun, Moon, and Stars, withdrawn a')   _
And bring an Angel-pen to write
My transports with my Anna!
The Kirk an State may join, an tell
To do sic things I maunna:
The Kirk an State may gae to Hell,   _
And I'll gae to my Anna.

She is the sunshine o' my e'e,   _
To live but her I canna:
Had I on earth but wishes three,
The first should be my Anna.