Morning poems
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301. Lines to a Gentleman who sent a Newspaper
© Robert Burns
KIND Sir, Ive read your paper through,
And faith, to me, twas really new!
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
This mony a day Ive graind and gaunted,
86. The Auld Farmers New-Year-Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie
© Robert Burns
Weve worn to crazy years thegither;
Well toyte about wi ane anither;
Wi tentie care Ill flit thy tether
To some haind rig,
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi sma fatigue.
538. SongNow Spring has clad the grove in green
© Robert Burns
NOW spring has clad the grove in green,
And strewd the lea wi flowers;
The furrowd, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers.
101. SongComposed in Spring
© Robert Burns
AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues:
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steepd in morning dews.
12. SongThe Lass of Cessnock Banks
© Robert Burns
ON Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
Could I describe her shape and mein;
Our lasses a she far excels,
An she has twa sparkling roguish een.
The Beauteous Terrorist
© Sir Henry Parkes
Soft as the morning's pearly light,
Where yet may rise the thunder-cloud,
Her gentle face was ever bright
With noble thought and purpose proud.
In September
© Edward Dowden
SPRING scarce had greener fields to show than these
Of mid September; through the still warm noon
350. Epistle to John Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughty
© Robert Burns
Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye,
And then the deil, he daurna steer ye:
Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye;
For me, shame fa me,
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye,
While Burns they ca me.
Sonnet XIII. To La Fayette
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
As when far off the warbled strains are heard
That soar on Morning's wing the vales among,
Within his cage th' imprisoned matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
I've Got a Golden Ticket
© Roald Dahl
I never thought my life could be
Anything but catastrophe
But suddenly I begin to see
A bit of good luck for me
382. SongIll meet thee on the Lea Rig
© Robert Burns
WHEN oer the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin time is near, my jo,
And owsen frae the furrowd field
Return sae dowf and weary O;
60. Epistle on J. Lapraik
© Robert Burns
But, to conclude my lang epistle,
As my auld pens worn to the gristle,
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle,
Who am, most fervent,
While I can either sing or whistle,
Your friend and servant.
The Flight of the Goddess
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
A man should live in a garret aloof,
And have few friends, and go poorly clad,
With an old hat stopping the chink in the roof,
To keep the Goddess constant and glad.
A Requiem
© Herman Melville
_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_
When, after storms that woodlands rue,
324. SongThe Charms of Lovely Davies
© Robert Burns
O HOW shall I, unskilfu, try
The poets occupation?
The tunefu powers, in happy hours,
That whisper inspiration;
211. SongMy Hoggie
© Robert Burns
WHAT will I do gin my Hoggie die?
My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!
My only beast, I had nae mae,
And vow but I was vogie!
The March O' Man
© Edgar Albert Guest
Down to work o' mornings, an' back to home at nights,
Down to hours o' labor, an' home to sweet delights;
Down to care an' trouble, an' home to love an' rest,
With every day a good one, an' every evening blest.
