Trust poems
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A Little Grey Curl
© Louisa May Alcott
A little grey curl from my father's head
I find unburned on the hearth,
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!
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.
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:
The Bards Who Lived at Manly
© Henry Lawson
The camp of high-class spielers,
Who sneered in summer dress,
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!
439. SongMy Spouse Nancy
© Robert Burns
HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, Sir;
Tho I am your wedded wife
Yet I am not your slave, Sir.
92. Suppressed Stanzas of The Vision
© Robert Burns
The owner of a pleasant spot,
Near and sandy wilds, I last did note; 14
A heart too warm, a pulse too hot
At times, oerran:
But large in evry feature wrote,
Appeard the Man.
Book Fifth-Books
© William Wordsworth
There was a Boy: ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone
Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake,
91. The Vision
© Robert Burns
And wear thou thisshe solemn said,
And bound the holly round my head:
The polishd leaves and berries red
Did rustling play;
And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away. [To Mrs. Stewart of Stair Burns presented a manuscript copy of the Vision. That copy embraces about twenty stanzas at the end of Duan First, which he cancelled when he came to print the price in his Kilmarnock volume. Seven of these he restored in printing his second edition, as noted on p. 174. The following are the verses which he left unpublished.]
110. Epistle to a Young Friend
© Robert Burns
May, 1786.I LANG hae thought, my youthfu friend,
A something to have sent you,
Tho it should serve nae ither end
Than just a kind memento:
293. The Whistle: A Ballad
© Robert Burns
I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth,
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North.
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King,
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.
Jacqueline
© Samuel Rogers
'Twas Autumn; thro' Provence had ceased
The vintage, and the vintage-feast.
The sun had set behind the hill,
The moon was up, and all was still,
310. Tam o Shanter: A Tale
© Robert Burns
This truth fand honest TAM O SHANTER,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham neer a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).
280. The Kirk of Scotlands Alarm: A Ballad
© Robert Burns
ORTHODOX! orthodox, who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:
A heretic blast has been blown in the West,
That what is no sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense.
The Progress of Taste, or the Fate of Delicacy
© William Shenstone
A POEM ON THE TEMPER AND STUDIES OF THE AUTHOR; AND HOW GREAT A MISFORTUNE IT IS FOR A MAN OF SMALL ESTATE TO HAVE MUCH TASTE.
Part first.
7. Ah, woe is me, my Mother dear
© Robert Burns
AH, woe is me, my mother dear!
A man of strife yeve born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.
238. SongAuld Lang Syne
© Robert Burns
SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
358. A Grace after Dinner
© Robert Burns
O THOU, in whom we live and move
Who made the sea and shore;
Thy goodness constantly we prove,
And grateful would adore;
Runnamede, A Tragedy. Acts I.-II.
© John Logan
Yet lost to fame is virtue's orient reign;
The patriot lived, the hero died in vain,
Dark night descended o'er the human day,
And wiped the glory of the world away:
Whirled round the gulf, the acts of time were tost,
Then in the vast abyss for ever lost.
