Famous Fa Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Fa poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous fa poems. These examples illustrate what a famous fa poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Robert Burns
SCOTS, wha hae wi’ WALLACE bled,
Scots, wham BRUCE has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud EDWARD’S power—
Chains and Slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha, for Scotland’s...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
WHOM will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a’ that?
Or wha in a’ the country round
The best deserves to fa’ that?
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Thro’ Galloway and a’ that,
Where is the Laird or belted Knight
The best deserves to fa’ that?
Wha sees Kerroughtree’s open yett,
(And wha is’t never saw that?)
Wha ever...Read more of this...
by
Paul Laurence Dunbar
De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day,
An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick;
Dey has cut de bigges' hick'ry dat de mules kin tote away,
An' dey's laid hit down and soaked it in de crik.
Den dey tuk hit to de big house an' dey piled de wood erroun'
In de fiah-place f'om ash-flo' to de flue,
While...Read more of this...
by
Mother Goose
Willy, Willy Wilkin
Kissed the maids a-milking,
Fa, la, la!
And with his merry daffing
He set them all a-laughing,
Ha, ha, ha!...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
“O CAM ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi’ me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
Or did the battle see, man?”
I saw the battle, sair and teugh,
And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O’ clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum’d...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
O THOU! whatever title suit thee—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie,
Clos’d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
To scaud poor wretches!
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An’ let poor damned bodies be;
I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie,
Ev’n to a deil,
To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me,
An’ hear us...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
WHARE live ye, my bonie lass?
And tell me what they ca’ ye;
My name, she says, is mistress Jean,
And I follow the Collier laddie.
My name, she says, &c.
See you not yon hills and dales
The sun shines on sae brawlie;
They a’ are mine, and they shall be thine,
Gin ye’ll leave your Collier laddie.
They a’ are...Read more of this...
by
William Soutar
Half doun the hill, whaur fa's the linn
Far frae the flaught o' fowk,
I saw upon a lanely whin
A lanely singin' gowk:
Cuckoo, cuckoo;
And at my back
The howie hill stüde up and spak:
Cuckoo, cuckoo.
There was nae soun': the loupin' linn
Was frostit in its fa':
Nae bird was on the lanely whin
Sae white wi’...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie *****
To thresh my back at sic a pitch?
Losh, man! hae mercy wi’ your natch,
Your bodkin’s bauld;
I didna suffer half sae much
Frae Daddie Auld.
What tho’ at times, when I grow crouse,
I gie their wames a random pouse,
Is that enough for you to souse
Your servant sae?
Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse,
An’...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
MY heart was ance as blithe and free
As simmer days were lang;
But a bonie, westlin weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.
Chorus.—To the weaver’s gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weaver’s gin ye go;
I rede you right, gang ne’er at night,
To the weaver’s gin ye go.
My mither sent me to the town,
To warp a...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
’TWAS in the seventeen hunder year
O’ grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae’est man
Of ony man alive.
In March the three-an’-twentieth morn,
The sun raise clear an’ bright;
But oh! I was a waefu’ man,
Ere to-fa’ o’ the night.
Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land,
Wi’ equal right and fame,
And thereto was his kinsmen join’d,
The Murray’s...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
HERE’S a health to them that’s awa,
Here’s a health to them that’s awa;
And wha winna wish gude luck to our cause,
May never gude luck be their fa’!
It’s gude to be merry and wise,
It’s gude to be honest and true;
It’s gude to support Caledonia’s cause,
And bide by the buff and the blue.
Here’s a health...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
Is there, for honest Poverty
That hings his head, and a' that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toils obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man 's the gowd for a' that. -
What though on hamely fare we...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
WHEN Guilford good our pilot stood
An’ did our hellim thraw, man,
Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,
And in the sea did jaw, man;
An’ did nae less, in full congress,
Than quite refuse our law, man.
Then thro’ the lakes Montgomery takes,
I wat he was na slaw, man;
Down Lowrie’s Burn...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
CONTENTED wi’ little, and cantie wi’ mair,
Whene’er I forgather wi’ Sorrow and Care,
I gie them a skelp as they’re creeping alang,
Wi’ a cog o’ gude swats and an auld Scottish sang.
Chorus.—Contented wi’ little, &c.
I whiles claw the elbow o’ troublesome thought;
But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught;
My mirth and gude humour are coin in my...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
STOP, passenger! my story’s brief,
And truth I shall relate, man;
I tell nae common tale o’ grief,
For Matthew was a great man.
If thou uncommon merit hast,
Yet spurn’d at Fortune’s door, man;
A look of pity hither cast,
For Matthew was a poor man.
If thou a noble sodger art,
That passest by this grave, man;
There moulders here a gallant...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
HEAR, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;—
If there’s a hole in a’ your coats,
I rede you tent it:
A chield’s amang you takin notes,
And, faith, he’ll prent it:
If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight,
O’ stature short, but genius bright,
That’s he, mark weel;
And wow! he has an unco...Read more of this...
by
Sir Walter Scott
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,
Sae comely to be seen"--
But aye she loot the tears sown fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.
"Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
And dry that...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
LET other heroes boast their scars,
The marks of sturt and strife:
And other poets sing of wars,
The plagues of human life:
Shame fa’ the fun, wi’ sword and gun
To slap mankind like lumber!
I sing his name, and nobler fame,
Wha multiplies our number.
Great Nature spoke, with air benign,
“Go on, ye human race;
This lower world I you resign;
...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
May—, 1786.I LANG hae thought, my youthfu’ friend,
A something to have sent you,
Tho’ it should serve nae ither end
Than just a kind memento:
But how the subject-theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang:
Perhaps turn out a sermon.
Ye’ll try the world soon, my lad;
And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye’ll find mankind...Read more of this...
by
Robert Louis Stevenson
CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride,
Down by the braes and the grey sea-side;
Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn,
Weary fa' their horse-shoe-airn!
Loud on the causey, saft on the sand,
Round they rade by the tail of the land;
Round and up by the Bour-Tree Den,
Weary fa' the red-coat men!
Aft hae I gane where they hae rade
And straigled in the gowden brooms -
Aft hae...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
FAIR fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’a grace
As lang’s my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o’need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
THERE’S news, lassies, news,
Gude news I’ve to tell!
There’s a boatfu’ o’ lads
Come to our town to sell.
Chorus.—The wean wants a cradle,
And the cradle wants a cod:
I’ll no gang to my bed,
Until I get a nod.
Father, quo’ she, Mither, quo she,
Do what you can,
I’ll no gang to my bed,
Until I get a man.
The...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
HEALTH to the Maxwell’s veteran Chief!
Health, aye unsour’d by care or grief:
Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl leaf,
This natal morn,
I see thy life is stuff o’ prief,
Scarce quite half-worn.
This day thou metes threescore eleven,
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given
To ilka Poet)
On thee a tack o’ seven times seven
Will yet bestow...Read more of this...
by
Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
l(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness...Read more of this...
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