Famous Weel Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Weel poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous weel poems. These examples illustrate what a famous weel poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Robert Burns
I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty
To warn you how that Master Tootie,
Alias, Laird M’Gaun,
Was here to hire yon lad away
’Bout whom ye spak the tither day,
An’ wad hae don’t aff han’;
But lest he learn the callan tricks—
An’ faith I muckle doubt him—
Like scrapin out auld Crummie’s nicks,
An’ tellin lies about them;
As lieve then,...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
AULD comrade dear, and brither sinner,
How’s a’ the folk about Glenconner?
How do you this blae eastlin wind,
That’s like to blaw a body blind?
For me, my faculties are frozen,
My dearest member nearly dozen’d.
I’ve sent you here, by Johnie Simson,
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
Smith, wi’ his sympathetic feeling,
An’ Reid, to common sense appealing.
Philosophers have fought and wrangled,
An’ meikle Greek an’...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
Chorus—O can ye labour lea, young man,
O can ye labour lea?
It fee nor bountith shall us twine
Gin ye can labour lea.
I FEE’D a man at Michaelmas,
Wi’ airle pennies three;
But a’ the faut I had to him,
He could na labour lea,
O can ye labour lea, &c.
O clappin’s gude in Febarwar,
An’ kissin’s sweet in May;
But...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
WHEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the deil?
Or great Mackinlay 1 thrawn his heel?
Or Robertson 2 again grown weel,
To preach an’ read?
“Na’ waur than a’! cries ilka chiel,
“Tam Samson’s dead!”
Kilmarnock lang may grunt an’ grane,
An’ sigh, an’ sab, an’ greet her lane,
An’ cleed her bairns, man, wife, an’ wean,
In mourning weed;
To Death she’s dearly pay’d the kane—
Tam...Read more of this...
by
Robert William Service
Only a rhymer, so I am,
Lone in the market place;
I shrink, and no one cares a damn
Though tears corrode my face.
The hollows of my cheeks they track,
Symbolic of vain hope;
My hands are grimed because I lack
The price of soap.
Only a rhymer! How my breeks
Let in the Winter wind;
One of my shoes obscenely leaks,
My...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
BEHIND yon hills where Lugar flows,
’Mang moors an’ mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos’d,
And I’ll awa to Nanie, O.
The westlin wind blaws loud an’ shill;
The night’s baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I’ll get my plaid an’ out I’ll steal,
An’ owre the hill to Nanie, O.
My Nanie’s charming, sweet, an’ young;
Nae artfu’...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 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
LAST May, a braw wooer cam doun the lang glen,
And sair wi’ his love he did deave me;
I said, there was naething I hated like men—
The deuce gae wi’m, to believe me, believe me;
The deuce gae wi’m to believe me.
He spak o’ the darts in my bonie black e’en,
And vow’d for my love he was...Read more of this...
by
Sir Walter Scott
To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke.
‘Ere the King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
Come open the West...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
O GOWDIE, terror o’ the whigs,
Dread o’ blackcoats and rev’rend wigs!
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs,
Girns an’ looks back,
Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues
May seize you quick.
Poor gapin’, glowrin’ Superstition!
Wae’s me, she’s in a sad condition:
Fye: bring Black Jock, 1 her state physician,
To see her water;
Alas, there’s ground for great suspicion
She’ll ne’er get better.
Enthusiasm’s past redemption,
Gane in...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
EXPECT na, sir, in this narration,
A fleechin, fleth’rin Dedication,
To roose you up, an’ ca’ you guid,
An’ sprung o’ great an’ noble bluid,
Because ye’re surnam’d like His Grace—
Perhaps related to the race:
Then, when I’m tir’d-and sae are ye,
Wi’ mony a fulsome, sinfu’ lie,
Set up a face how I stop short,
For fear your modesty be hurt.
This may do—maun do, sir,...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
Robert William Service
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska tae Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye:
"That's whit I hate maist aboot fechtin' -- it makes ye sae deevilish dry;
Noo jist hae a keek at yon ferm-hoose them Gairmans are poundin' sae fine,
Weel, think o' it, doon in the dunnie there's bottles and bottles o' wine.
A' hell's fairly belchin' oot yonner, but oh, lad, I'm ettlin'...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
«Take up thy cup and goblet, Love,» I said,
«Haunt purling river bank, and grassy glade;
Full many a moon-like form has heaven's weel
Oft into cup, oft into goblet, made!»...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
O WHY the deuce should I repine,
And be an ill foreboder?
I’m twenty-three, and five feet nine,
I’ll go and be a sodger!
I gat some gear wi’ mickle care,
I held it weel thegither;
But now it’s gane, and something mair—
I’ll go and be a sodger!...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
AS Tam the chapman on a day,
Wi’Death forgather’d by the way,
Weel pleas’d, he greets a wight so famous,
And Death was nae less pleas’d wi’ Thomas,
Wha cheerfully lays down his pack,
And there blaws up a hearty crack:
His social, friendly, honest heart
Sae tickled Death, they could na part;
Sae, after viewing knives and garters,
Death taks him hame to gie him quarters....Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
MY lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend’s esteem and praise:
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,
The lowly train in life’s sequester’d scene,
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways,
What Aiken in a cottage would have been;
Ah! tho’ his worth...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
A Tale
"Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke."
—Gawin Douglas.
When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak' the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
I GAT your letter, winsome Willie;
Wi’ gratefu’ heart I thank you brawlie;
Tho’ I maun say’t, I wad be silly,
And unco vain,
Should I believe, my coaxin billie
Your flatterin strain.
But I’se believe ye kindly meant it:
I sud be laith to think ye hinted
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented
On my poor Musie;
Tho’ in sic phraisin terms ye’ve penn’d it,
I scarce...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
THERE was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough’d him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show’rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
WHILE new-ca’d kye rowte at the stake
An’ pownies reek in pleugh or braik,
This hour on e’enin’s edge I take,
To own I’m debtor
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,
For his kind letter.
Forjesket sair, with weary legs,
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs,
Or dealing thro’ amang the naigs
Their ten-hours’ bite,
My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs
I would na write.
The tapetless, ramfeezl’d...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ knaggie,
I’ve seen the day
Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie,
Out-owre the lay.
Tho’ now thou’s dowie, stiff, an’ crazy,
An’ thy auld hide as white’s a daisie,
I’ve seen thee dappl’t, sleek an’ glaizie,
A bonie gray:
He should been tight that daur’t...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
’TWAS on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
That Charlie came to our town,
The young Chevalier.
Chorus.—An’ Charlie, he’s my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie, he’s my darling,
The young Chevalier.
As he was walking up the street,
The city for to view,
O there he spied a bonie lass
The window looking through,
An’ Charlie, &c.
Sae light’s he jumped...Read more of this...
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