Poems by Robert Burns

Presented by the RBWF

O May thy morn

O MAY, thy morn was ne'er so sweet,
As the mirk night o' December;
For sparkling was the rosy wine,
And private was the chamber:
And dear was she, I dare na name,
But I will ay remember:
And dear was she, I dare na name,
But I will ay remember.------

And here 's to them, that, like oursel,
Can push about the jorum;
And here 's to them that wish us weel,
May a' that 's gude watch o'er them:
And here 's to them, we dare na tell,
The dearest o' the quorum,---
And here 's to them, we dare na tell,
The dearest o' the quorum.---