Car poems
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321. SongCraigieburn Wood
© Robert Burns
SWEET closes the evning on Craigieburn Wood,
And blythely awaukens the morrow;
But the pride o the spring in the Craigieburn Wood
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow.
43. SongO Leave Novels!
© Robert Burns
O LEAVE novels, 1 ye Mauchline belles,
Yere safer at your spinning-wheel;
Such witching books are baited hooks
For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel;
296. The Five Carlins: An Election Ballad
© Robert Burns
THERE was five Carlins in the South,
They fell upon a scheme,
To send a lad to London town,
To bring them tidings hame.
The Mirror
© Madison Julius Cawein
An antique mirror this,
I like it not at all,
In this lonely room where the goblin gloom
Scowls from the arrased wall.
Waldenses
© William Wordsworth
THOSE had given earliest notice, as the lark
Springs from the ground the morn to gratulate;
102. To a Mountain Daisy
© Robert Burns
Evn thou who mournst the Daisys fate,
That fate is thineno distant date;
Stern Ruins plough-share drives elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushd beneath the furrows weight,
Shall be thy doom!
88. The Authors Earnest Cry and Prayer
© Robert Burns
Scotland, my auld, respected mither!
Tho whiles ye moistify your leather,
Till, whare ye sit on craps o heather,
Ye tine your dam;
Freedom an whisky gang thegither!
Take aff your dram!
41. Epistle to John Rankine
© Robert Burns
It pits me aye as mads a hare;
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair;
But pennyworths again is fair,
When times expedient:
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir,
Your most obedient.
435. SongWhere are the Joys I have met
© Robert Burns
WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning,
That dancd to the larks early song?
Where is the peace that awaited my wandring,
At evening the wild-woods among?
137. SongFarewell to the Banks of Ayr
© Robert Burns
THE GLOOMY night is gathring fast,
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving oer the plain;
27. The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie
© Robert Burns
O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu case!
My dying words attentive hear,
An bear them to my Master dear.
Sonnet LXXIV. The Winter Night
© Charlotte Turner Smith
"SLEEP, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,"
Forsakes me, while the chill and sullen blast,
As my sad soul recalls its sorrows past,
Seems like a summons bidding me prepare
Historic Evening
© Arthur Rimbaud
On an evening, for example, when the naive tourist has retired
from our economic horrors, a master's hand awakens
Shyama -- English Translation
© Rabindranath Tagore
Yet after all these I cannot forget the pain
I couldnt know her more!
One can hardly be nearest to what is beautiful
It ever remains far
When nearer it urges one ever
To know it ever more.
Episode In A Library
© Zbigniew Herbert
A blonde girl is bent over a poem. With a pencil sharp as a lancet she transfers the words to a blank page and changes them into strokes, accents, caesuras. The lament of a fallen poet now looks like a salamander eaten away by ants.
When we carried him away under machine-gun fire, I believed that his still warm body would be resurrected in the word. Now as I watch the death of the words, I know there is no limit to decay. All that will be left after us in the black earth will be scattered syllables. Accents over nothingness and dust.
98. To Mr. MAdam, of Craigen-Gillan
© Robert Burns
SIR, oer a gill I gat your card,
I trow it made me proud;
See wha taks notice o the bard!
I lap and cried fu loud.
Astrophel And Stella-Fourth Song
© Sir Philip Sidney
Only joy, now here you are,
Fit to hear and ease my care:
Let my whispering voice obtain
Sweet reward for sharpest pain.
Take me to thee, and thee to me.
"No, no, no, no, my dear, let be."
345. SongFrae the friends and land I love
© Robert Burns
FRAE the friends and land I love,
Drivn by Fortunes felly spite;
Frae my best belovd I rove,
Never mair to taste delight:
351. Second Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry
© Robert Burns
Criticsappalld, I venture on the name;
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame:
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes;
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose:
57. Holy Willies Prayer
© Robert Burns
But, Ld, remember me an mine
Wi mercies tempral an divine,
That I for grace an gear may shine,
Excelld by nane,
And a the glory shall be thine,
Amen, Amen!
