Burns Night

This evening, the Birthday of Robert Burns (25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796) is celebrated by Scots and poetry lovers all over the world. As we read his poetry aloud and eat our haggis, neeps and tatties, let us raise a glass to “the lassies”!

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns – 1794

A poem perfect for any occasion.

Burns Night was last modified: February 18th, 2019 by admin
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