Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Monday, March 4, 2013

Poems By Robert Burns

A Man's A Man For A' That
by Robert Burns

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, and 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 abon 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 brothers be for a' that.


A Red, Red Rose 
by Robert Burns

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 played in tune.

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.

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

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
    And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
    Though it were ten thousand mile.

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