Thursday, December 16, 2010

Love poems by Robert Burns

I was looking through things to write about and I came across this site, Heart of Scotland. In it, I found love poems by Robert Burns. I know I should save this for the end of January when everyone celebrates Robert Burns Night, but they are just too good to store away. I hope you like them as much as I do.

O my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie 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;
And I will luve thee still my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo've best:
There's wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between;
But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There's not a bonie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

O wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the aingry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
The bield* should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a Paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there;
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen!

*bield- shelter or protection

Ithers seek they ken na what,
Features, carriage, and a' that;
Gie me love in her I court,
Love to love makes a' the sport.

Let love sparkle in her e'e;
Let her lo'e nae man but me;
That's the tocher-gude* I prize,
There the luver's treasure lies.

*tocher-gude- marriage portion