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A Dream - Poem by Robert Burns

Guid-Mornin' to our Majesty!
May Heaven augment your blisses
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see,
A humble poet wishes.
My bardship here, at your Levee
On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,
Amang thae birth-day dresses
Sae fine this day.

I see ye're complimented thrang,
By mony a lord an' lady;
"God save the King" 's a cuckoo sang
That's unco easy said aye:
The poets, too, a venal gang,
Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready,
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang,
But aye unerring steady,
On sic a day.

For me! before a monarch's face
Ev'n there I winna flatter;
For neither pension, post, nor place,
Am I your humble debtor:
So, nae reflection on your Grace,
Your Kingship to bespatter;
There's mony waur been o' the race,
And aiblins ane been better
Than you this day.

'Tis very true, my sovereign King,
My skill may weel be doubted;
But facts are chiels that winna ding,
An' downa be disputed:
Your royal nest, beneath your wing,
Is e'en right reft and clouted,
And now the third part o' the string,
An' less, will gang aboot it
Than did ae day.^1

Far be't frae me that I aspire
To blame your legislation,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,
To rule this mighty nation:
But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire,
Ye've trusted ministration
To chaps wha in barn or byre
Wad better fill'd their station
Than courts yon day.

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace,
Her broken shins to plaister,
Your sair taxation does her fleece,
Till she has scarce a tester:
For me, thank God, my life's a lease,
Nae bargain wearin' faster,
Or, faith! I fear, that, wi' the geese,
I shortly boost to pasture
I' the craft some day.

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt,
When taxes he enlarges,
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,
A name not envy spairges),
That he intends to pay your debt,
An' lessen a' your charges;
But, God-sake! let nae saving fit
Abridge your bonie barges
An'boats this day.

Adieu, my Liege; may freedom geck
Beneath your high protection;
An' may ye rax Corruption's neck,
And gie her for dissection!
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,
In loyal, true affection,
To pay your Queen, wi' due respect,
May fealty an' subjection
This great birth-day.

Hail, Majesty most Excellent!
While nobles strive to please ye,
Will ye accept a compliment,
A simple poet gies ye?
Thae bonie bairntime, Heav'n has lent,
Still higher may they heeze ye
In bliss, till fate some day is sent
For ever to release ye
Frae care that day.

For you, young Potentate o'Wales,
I tell your highness fairly,
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails,
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;
But some day ye may gnaw your nails,
An' curse your folly sairly,
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales,
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie
By night or day.

Yet aft a ragged cowt's been known,
To mak a noble aiver;
So, ye may doucely fill the throne,
For a'their clish-ma-claver:
There, him^2 at Agincourt wha shone,
Few better were or braver:
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,^3
He was an unco shaver
For mony a day.

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,
Altho' a ribbon at your lug
Wad been a dress completer:
As ye disown yon paughty dog,
That bears the keys of Peter,
Then swith! an' get a wife to hug,
Or trowth, ye'll stain the mitre
Some luckless day!

Young, royal Tarry-breeks, I learn,
Ye've lately come athwart her-
A glorious galley,^4 stem and stern,
Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern,
Your hymeneal charter;
Then heave aboard your grapple airn,
An' large upon her quarter,
Come full that day.

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a',
Ye royal lasses dainty,
Heav'n mak you guid as well as braw,
An' gie you lads a-plenty!
But sneer na British boys awa!
For kings are unco scant aye,
An' German gentles are but sma',
They're better just than want aye
On ony day.

Gad bless you a'! consider now,
Ye're unco muckle dautit;
But ere the course o' life be through,
It may be bitter sautit:
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,
That yet hae tarrow't at it.
But or the day was done, I trow,
The laggen they hae clautit
Fu' clean that day.
Robert Burns

Latest Urdu Poetry

Main khayal hoon kisi aur ka mujhe sochta koi aur hai,
Sar-e-aayina mera akss hai pass-e-aayina koi

Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun

ye kya k sab se bayan dil ki halaten karni
'Faraz' tujh ko na ain muhabbaten karani

ye qurb kya

COME down, O maid, from yonder mountain height:
What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang),

Woh shakhss kabhi jis ne mera ghhar nahin dekha,
Us shakhss ko maine kabhi ghhar par nahin dekha,

Stanza (23)

Sar-e-Faran Pe Kiya Deen Ko Kamil Tu Ne
Ek Ishare Mein Hazaron Ke Liye Dil Tu Ne

Mein Bhi Bohat Ajeeb Hun Itna Ajeeb Hun Keh Bas
Khud Ko Tabah Kar Liya Aur Malal Bhi Nahi

Dil hi to hai na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyuN
RoyeNge ham hazaar baar koi hameiN sataay

Nazar bujhi tu karishmey bhi roz-o-shab ke gaye.
ke abb talakk nahi Aaaye hain loog jabb ke gaye.

Dekh le! khaak hai kaasay meiN K zar hai saayiN
Dast-e-daadaar baRaa sho’badaa – gar hai saayiN

Mr Ifonly sat down and he sighed,
I could have done more if only I had tried
If only I had followe

Na to yaado ko yaad rakhte hain
Na hi sapno ko saath rakhte hain

Hum to buss unko yaad rakte hai

Mohabbat Ki Kashti Me Utarny Se Pehly SuN Lo

Is Darya Me Tum Ko Kabhi Kinara Na Mily Ga...

Baat meri kabhi suni hi nahin,
Jaante woh buri bhalli hi nahin,
Dillagi un ki dillagi hi nahin,
R

Tanhaiyoun K Dard Se Khoob Waqif Tha Wo Faraz
Phir Bhi Dunia Main Mujhe Tanha Banaya Usne

Na Ghareeb Nu Wekh K Hasseya Kar
Na Buri Nazar Naal Takkeya Kar
Lokaan De Aib Labda En Fareeda
Ka

Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have

Ya Masihai Usy Bhool Gai Hai Mohsin

Ya Phir Is Bar Mera Zakhm Hi Gehta Hoga...!

In the end, I made myself
Known to your wife as
A god would, in her own house, in
Ithaca, a voice

Kab Talak Tuj Pe Inhisar Krain
Kun Na Ab Dosron Se Pyar Krain
Tu Kabi Waqt Par Nahi Phucha
Kis Ta

Urdu Poetry

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