What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns and stools; If honest nature made you fools. — Robert Burns Copy Share Image
My Son, these maxims make a rule An lump them ay thegither: The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither. — 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
