The Red, Red Rose.

Air - "Hughie Graham."



I.

    O were my love yon lilac fair,
        Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;
    And I, a bird to shelter there,
        When wearied on my little wing!
    How I wad mourn, when it was torn
        By autumn wild, and winter rude!
    But I wad sing on wanton wing,
        When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.

II.

    O gin my love were yon red rose,
        That grows upon the castle wa';
    And I mysel' a drap o' dew,
        Into her bonnie breast to fa'!
    Oh, there beyond expression blest,
        I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
    Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
        Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light.

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

Her Flowing Locks.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To The Rev. John M'Math.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

My Ain Kind Dearie O.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

My Heart's In The Highlands.

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.

A Red, Red Rose.

Tune - "Graham's Strathspey."


I.

    O, my luve's like a red, red rose,
        That's newly sprung in June:
    O, my luve's like the melodie,
        That's sweetly play'd in tune.

II.

    As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
        So deep in luve am I:
    And I will luve thee still, my dear,
        'Till a' the seas gang dry.

III.

    'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
        And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
    I will luve thee still, my dear,
        While the sands o' life shall run.

IV.

    And fare thee weel, my only luve!
        And fare thee weel a-while!
    And I will come again, my luve,
        Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

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

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

Chloris.

Air - "My lodging is on the cold ground."


I.

    My Chloris, mark how green the groves,
        The primrose banks how fair:
    The balmy gales awake the flowers,
        And wave thy flaxen hair.

II.

    The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,
        And o'er the cottage sings;
    For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
        To shepherds as to kings

III.

    Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
        In lordly lighted ha':
    The shepherd stops his simple reed,
        Blythe, in the birken shaw.

IV.

    The princely revel may survey
        Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
    But are their hearts as light as ours,
        Beneath the milk-white thorn?

V.

    ...

Robert Burns

By Allan Stream.

I.

    By Allan stream I chanced to rove
        While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
    The winds were whispering through the grove,
        The yellow corn was waving ready;
    I listened to a lover's sang,
        And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony:
    And aye the wild wood echoes rang
        O dearly do I lo'e thee, Annie!

II.

    O happy be the woodbine bower,
        Nae nightly bogle make it eerie;
    Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
        The place and time I met my dearie!
    Her head upon my throbbing breast,
        She, sinking, said, "I'm thine for ever?"
    While mony a kiss the seal imprest,
        The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

III.

    The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae,

Robert Burns

O Luve Will Venture In.

Tune - "The Posie."


I.

    O luve will venture in
        Where it daurna weel be seen;
    O luve will venture in
        Where wisdom ance has been.
    But I will down yon river rove,
        Among the wood sae green
    And a' to pu' a posie
        To my ain dear May.

II.

    The primrose I will pu',
        The firstling o' the year,
    And I will pu' the pink,
        The emblem o' my dear,
    For she's the pink o' womankind,
        And blooms without a peer
    And a' to be a posie
        To my ain dear May.

III.

    I'll pu' the budding rose,
        When Phoebus peeps in view,
    For it's like a baumy kiss
        O' her sweet bonnie mou';
    The hyacinth's...

Robert Burns