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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416884" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Robert Burns</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet Singer that I loe the maist<br>O' ony, sin' wi' eager haste<br>I smacket bairn-lips ower the taste<br>O' hinnied sang,<br>I hail thee, though a blessed ghaist<br>In Heaven lang!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For weel I ken, nae cantie phrase,<br>Nor courtly airs, nor lairdly ways,<br>Could gar me freer blame, or praise,<br>Or proffer hand,<br>Where 'Rantin' Robbie' and his lays<br>Thegither stand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And sae these hamely lines I send,<br>Wi' jinglin' words at ilka end,<br>In echo o' the sangs that wend<br>Frae thee to me<br>Like simmer-brooks, wi mony a bend<br>O' wimplin' glee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In fancy, as wi' dewy een,<br>I part the clouds aboon the scene<br>Where thou wast born, and peer atween,<br>I see nae spot<br>In a' the Hielands half sae green<br>And unforgot?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see nae storied castle-hall,<br>Wi' banners flauntin' ower the wall<br>And serf and page in ready call,<br>Sae grand to me<br>As ane puir cotter's hut, wi' all<br>Its poverty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There where the simple daisy grew<br>Sae bonnie sweet, and modest too,<br>Thy liltin' filled its wee head fu'<br>O' sic a grace,<br>It aye is weepin' tears o' dew<br>Wi' droopit face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Frae where the heather bluebells fling<br>Their sangs o' fragrance to the Spring,<br>To where the lavrock soars to sing,<br>Still lives thy strain,<br>For' a' the birds are twittering<br>Sangs like thine ain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And aye, by light o' sun or moon,<br>By banks o' Ayr, or Bonnie Doon,<br>The waters lilt nae tender tune<br>But sweeter seems<br>Because they poured their limpid rune<br>Through a' thy dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wi' brimmin' lip, and laughin' ee,<br>Thou shookest even Grief wi' glee,<br>Yet had nae niggart sympathy<br>Where Sorrow bowed,<br>But gavest a' thy tears as free<br>As a' thy gowd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And sae it is we be thy name<br>To see bleeze up wi' sic a flame,<br>That a' pretentious stars o' fame<br>Maun blink asklent,<br>To see how simple worth may shame<br>Their brightest glent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Whitcomb+Riley">James Whitcomb Riley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416884" data-title="To Robert Burns de James Whitcomb Riley" data-description="Sweet Singer that I loe the maist
O' ony, sin' wi' eager haste
I smacket bairn-lips ower the taste
O' hinnied sang,
I hail thee, though a blessed ghaist
In Heaven lang!

For weel I ken, nae cantie phrase,
Nor courtly airs, nor lairdly ways,
Could ..."></div>
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