Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.



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www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
515. Song—O let me in this ae night
O LASSIE, are ye sleepin yet,
Or are ye waukin, I wad wit?
For Love has bound me hand an’ fit,
And I would fain be in, jo.



Chorus.
—O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
O let me in this ae night,
I’ll no come back again, jo!


O hear’st thou not the wind an’ weet?
Nae star blinks thro’ the driving sleet;
Tak pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo.

O let me in, &c.



The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa’s;
The cauldness o’ thy heart’s the cause
Of a’ my care and pine, jo.

O let me in, &c.



HER ANSWERO tell na me o’ wind an’ rain,
Upbraid na me wi’ cauld disdain,
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I winna let ye in, jo.



Chorus.
—I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
And ance for a’ this ae night,
I winna let ye in, jo.



The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wand’rer pours
Is nocht to what poor she endures,
That’s trusted faithless man, jo.

I tell you now, &c.



The sweetest flower that deck’d the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed—
Let simple maid the lesson read
The weird may be her ain, jo.

I tell you now, &c.



The bird that charm’d his summer day,
Is now the cruel Fowler’s prey;
Let witless, trusting, Woman say
How aft her fate’s the same, jo!
I tell you now, &c.
Written by: Robert Burns