Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise. — Robert Burns Copy Share Image
Ambition is a meteor-gleam; Fame a restless airy dream; Pleasures, insects on the wing Round Peace, th' tend rest flow'r of spring. — Robert Burns Copy Share Image
Pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed. — 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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry? — Robert Burns Copy Share Image
“O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us!” — Robert Burns Copy Share Image
“All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn." [ Brigs of Ayr ]” — Robert Burns Copy Share Image
