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
    The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.

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

Willie Wastle.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Delia. - An Ode.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Contented Wi' Little.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

To Thee, Loved Nith.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

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To A Rosebud In Humble Life

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Elegy On Miss Burnet, Of Monboddo.

    Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize
    As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;
    Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow,
    As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low.

    Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
    In richest ore the brightest jewel set!
    In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,
    As by his noblest work, the Godhead best is known.

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        Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
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        Ye cease to charm, Eliza is no more!

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Robert Burns

A Word To Two Young Ladies.

WHEN tender Rose-trees first receive
On half-expanded Leaves, the Shower;
Hope's gayest pictures we believe,
And anxious watch each coining flower.

Then, if beneath the genial Sun
That spreads abroad the full-blown May,
Two infant Stems the rest out-run,
Their buds the first to meet the day,

With joy their op'ning tints we view,
While morning's precious moments fly:
My pretty Maids, 'tis thus with you;
The fond admiring gazer, I.

Preserve, sweet Buds, where'er you be;
The richest gem that decks a Wife;
The charm of female modesty:
And let sweet Music give it life.

Still may the favouring Muse be found:
Still circumspect the paths ye tread:
Plant moral truths in Fancy's ground;
And meet old Age without...

Robert Bloomfield

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

    Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
    Thou's met me in an evil hour;
    For I maun crush amang the stoure
        Thy slender stem:
    To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
        Thou bonnie gem.

    Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
    The bonnie lark, companion meet!
    Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,
        Wi' spreckl'd breast,
    When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
        The purpling east.

    Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
    Upon thy early, humble birth;
    Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
        Amid the storm,
    Scarce rear'd above the parent earth
        Thy tender form.

    The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
    High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield
    But thou, beneath t...

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

Written On The Blank Leaf Of A Copy Of My Poems, Presented To An Old Sweetheart, Then Married.

    Once fondly lov'd and still remember'd dear;
        Sweet early object of my youthful vows!
    Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,
        Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows.

    And when you read the simple artless rhymes,
        One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more,
    Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes,
        Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar.

Robert Burns