“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… — Robert Burns Copy Share Image
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn. — Robert Burns Copy Share
Oh my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June; Oh my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. — Robert Burns Copy Share
Again rejoicing Nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in the morning dews. — Robert Burns Copy Share
Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry? — Robert Burns Copy Share
“All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn." [ Brigs of Ayr ]” — Robert Burns Copy Share
