A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk.

Tune - "*The Rose-bud.*"


I.

    A rose-bud by my early walk,
    Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
    Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
        All on a dewy morning.
    Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
    In a' its crimson glory spread,
    And drooping rich the dewy head,
        It scents the early morning.

II.

    Within the bush, her covert nest
    A little linnet fondly prest,
    The dew sat chilly on her breast
        Sae early in the morning.
    She soon shall see her tender brood,
    The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
    Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
        Awake the early morning.

III.

    So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
    On trembling string or vocal air,
    Shall sweetly pay the tender care
        That tends thy early morning.
    So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
    Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
    And bless the parent's evening ray
        That watch'd thy early morning.

Robert Burns

Robert Burns, also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire, and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. Born on January 25, 1759, in Alloway, he is best known for works such as 'Auld Lang Syne,' 'Scots Wha Hae,' and 'A Red, Red Rose.' He passed away on July 21, 1796, in Dumfries.

Robert Burns

To A Mountain Daisy, On Turning One Down With The Plough In April, 1786.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

The Battle Of Sheriff-Muir.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Lines Written On A Window.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Musing On The Roaring Ocean.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Morning Walk

The linnet sat upon its nest,
By gales of morning softly prest,
His green wing and his greener breast
Were damp with dews of morning:
The dog-rose near the oaktree grew,
Blush'd swelling 'neath a veil of dew,
A pink's nest to its prickles grew,
Right early in the morning.

The sunshine glittered gold, the while
A country maiden clomb the stile;
Her straw hat couldn't hide the smile
That blushed like early morning.
The lark, with feathers all wet through,
Looked up above the glassy dew,
And to the neighbouring corn-field flew,
Fanning the gales of morning.

In every bush was heard a song,
On each grass blade, the whole way long,
A silver shining drop there hung,
The milky dew of morning.
Where stepping-stones stride o'er the brook<...

John Clare

To A Rosebud In Humble Life

    Sweet, uncultivated blossom,
    Reared in Spring's refreshing dews,
    Dear to every gazer's bosom,
    Fair to every eye that views;--
    Opening bud, whose youth can charm us,
    Thine be many a happy hour:
    Spreading rose, whose beauties warm us--
    Flourish long, my lovely flower.

    Though pride look disdainful on thee,
    Scorning scenes so mean as thine,
    Although fortune frown upon thee,
    Lovely blossom, ne'er repine:
    Health unbought is ever with thee,
    Which their wealth can never gain;
    Innocence doth garments give thee,
    Such as fashion apes in vain.

    When fit time and reason grant thee
    Leave to quit the parent tree,
    May some happy hand transplant thee
    To a station suiting t...

John Clare

To Miss Cruikshank, A Very Young Lady. Written On The Blank Leaf Of A Book, Presented To Her By The Author.

    Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay,
    Blooming in thy early May,
    Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r,
    Chilly shrink in sleety show'r!
    Never Boreas' hoary path,
    Never Eurus' poisonous breath,
    Never baleful stellar lights,
    Taint thee with untimely blights!
    Never, never reptile thief
    Riot on thy virgin leaf!
    Nor even Sol too fiercely view
    Thy bosom blushing still with dew!

    May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem,
    Richly deck thy native stem:
    'Till some evening, sober, calm,
    Dropping dews and breathing balm,
    While all around the woodland rings,
    And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings;
    Thou, amid the dirgeful sound,
    Shed thy dying honours round,
    And resign to parent earth

Robert Burns

When Rosy May.

Tune - "The gardener wi' his paidle."


I.

    When rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
    To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
    Then busy, busy are his hours,
        The gard'ner wi' his paidle
    The crystal waters gently fa';
    The merry birds are lovers a';
    The scented breezes round him blaw,
        The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

II.

    When purple morning starts the hare
    To steal upon her early fare,
    Then thro' the dews he maun repair,
        The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
    When day, expiring in the west,
    The curtain draws of nature's rest,
    He flies to her arms he lo'es best,
        The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

Robert Burns

O Bonnie Was Yon Rosy Brier.

I.

    O Bonnie was yon rosy brier,
        That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man,
    And bonnie she, and ah, how dear!
        It shaded frae the e'enin sun.

II.

    Yon rosebuds in the morning dew
        How pure, amang the leaves sae green:
    But purer was the lover's vow
        They witness'd in their shade yestreen.

III.

    All in its rude and prickly bower,
        That crimson rose, how sweet and fair!
    But love is far a sweeter flower
        Amid life's thorny path o' care.

IV.

    The pathless wild, and wimpling burn,
        Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine;
    And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn,
        Its joys and griefs alike resign.

Robert Burns

Blooming Nelly.

Tune - "*On a bank of flowers.*"

I.

    On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
        For summer lightly drest,
    The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
        With love and sleep opprest;
    When Willie wand'ring thro' the wood,
        Who for her favour oft had sued,
    He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
        And trembled where he stood.

II.

    Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd,
        Were seal'd in soft repose;
    Her lips still as she fragrant breath'd,
        It richer dy'd the rose.
    The springing lilies sweetly prest,
        Wild. wanton, kiss'd her rival breast;
    He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
        His bosom ill at rest.

III.

    Her robes light waving in the breeze
        Her tender limbs embrace;
    Her lovely form, her native ease,
        All harmony and grace:
    Tumultuou...

Robert Burns