10 Best Famous Mamie Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Mamie poems. This is a select list of the best famous Mamie poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Mamie poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of mamie poems.

• All Famous Mamie Poems

 THOU’S 1 welcome, wean; mishanter fa’ me,
If thoughts o’ thee, or yet thy mamie,
Shall ever daunton me or awe me,
 My bonie lady,
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca’ me
 Tyta or daddie.


Tho’ now they ca’ me fornicator,
An’ tease my name in kintry clatter,
The mair they talk, I’m kent the better,
 E’en let them clash;
An auld wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter
 To gie ane fash.


Welcome! my bonie, sweet, wee dochter,
Tho’ ye come here a wee unsought for,
And tho’ your comin’ I hae fought for,
 Baith kirk and queir;
Yet, by my faith, ye’re no unwrought for,
 That I shall swear!


Wee image o’ my bonie Betty,
As fatherly I kiss and daut thee,
As dear, and near my heart I set thee
 Wi’ as gude will
As a’ the priests had seen me get thee
 That’s out o’ h—ll.


Sweet fruit o’ mony a merry dint,
My funny toil is now a’ tint,
Sin’ thou came to the warl’ asklent,
 Which fools may scoff at;
In my last plack thy part’s be in’t
 The better ha’f o’t.


Tho’ I should be the waur bestead,
Thou’s be as braw and bienly clad,
And thy young years as nicely bred
 Wi’ education,
As ony brat o’ wedlock’s bed,
 In a’ thy station.


Lord grant that thou may aye inherit
Thy mither’s person, grace, an’ merit,
An’ thy poor, worthless daddy’s spirit,
 Without his failins,
’Twill please me mair to see thee heir it,
 Than stockit mailens.


For if thou be what I wad hae thee,
And tak the counsel I shall gie thee,
I’ll never rue my trouble wi’ thee,
 The cost nor shame o’t,
But be a loving father to thee,
 And brag the name o’t.


 Note 1. Burns never published this poem. [back]

 MAMIE beat her head against the bars of a little Indiana
town and dreamed of romance and big things off
somewhere the way the railroad trains all ran.
She could see the smoke of the engines get lost down
where the streaks of steel flashed in the sun and
when the newspapers came in on the morning mail
she knew there was a big Chicago far off, where all
the trains ran.
She got tired of the barber shop boys and the post office
chatter and the church gossip and the old pieces the
band played on the Fourth of July and Decoration Day
And sobbed at her fate and beat her head against the
bars and was going to kill herself
When the thought came to her that if she was going to
die she might as well die struggling for a clutch of
romance among the streets of Chicago.
She has a job now at six dollars a week in the basement
of the Boston Store
And even now she beats her head against the bars in the
same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place
the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe
there is

romance
and big things
and real dreams
that never go smash.

 THERE is something terrible
about a hurdy-gurdy,
a gipsy man and woman,
and a monkey in red flannel
all stopping in front of a big house
with a sign “For Rent” on the door
and the blinds hanging loose
and nobody home.
I never saw this.
I hope to God I never will.

 Whoop-de-doodle-de-doo.
 Hoodle-de-harr-de-hum.
Nobody home? Everybody home.
 Whoop-de-doodle-de-doo.

Mamie Riley married Jimmy Higgins last night: Eddie Jones died of whooping cough: George Hacks got a job on the police force: the Rosenheims bought a brass bed: Lena Hart giggled at a jackie: a pushcart man called tomaytoes, tomaytoes.
 Whoop-de-doodle-de-doo.
 Hoodle-de-harr-de-hum.
 Nobody home? Everybody home.