Green Grow The Rashes
Robert Burns
Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e’er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses, O! There’s nought but care on every han’ In every hour that passes, O; What signifies the life o’ man, An ’twere na for the lasses, O? The warl’ly race may riches chase, An’ riches still may fly them, O; An’ though at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them, O. But gi’e me a canny hour at e’en, My arms about my dearie, O, An’ warl’ly cares an’ warl’ly men May a’ gae tapsalteerie, O! For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, Ye’re nought but senseless asses, O; The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O. Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O; Her ‘prentice han’ she tried on man, An’ then she made the lasses, O.
Next 10 Poems
- Robert Burns : Handsome Nell
- Robert Burns : Hark! The Mavis
- Robert Burns : Here's A Health To Them That's Awa
- Robert Burns : Here's To Thy Health
- Robert Burns : Highland Mary
- Robert Burns : Holy Fair, The
- Robert Burns : Holy Willie's Prayer
- Robert Burns : I Dream'd I Lay
- Robert Burns : In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer
- Robert Burns : It Was A' For Our Rightful King
Previous 10 Poems
- Robert Burns : From Lines To William Simson
- Robert Burns : For A' That And A' That
- Robert Burns : First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified, The
- Robert Burns : Fareweel To A'our Scottish Fame
- Robert Burns : Epitaph On Holy Willie
- Robert Burns : Duncan Gray
- Robert Burns : Despondency -- An Ode
- Robert Burns : Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie, The
- Robert Burns : Cotter's Saturday Night, The
- Robert Burns : Coming Through The Rye
