The Season

And must I wear a silken life,

Hemmed in by city walls?

And must I give my garden up

For theatres and balls?

Nay, though the cage be made of gold,

‘Tis better to be free;

The green of the green meadows, love,

Is quite enough for me.

I’d rather ramble through the lanes

Than drive about in town;

I’d rather muse or dream than dance,

When the stars are shining down.

I do not care for diamonds, dear,

But I care a deal for flowers;

And thousands are just creeping out

For the sunshine and the showers.

I like to hear the Household band,

But I love the bird-songs best;

And hark! how they are twittering now

Round each half-hidden nest!

The wind is whispering in the leaves,

And the downy bees begin

To hum in the blossoming sycamores,

And the brook is chiming in.

There is such melody in the woods,

Such music in the air!

The streets are full of life and sound,

And yet ’tis silent there.

I like to see the pictures-ay,

But I am hard to please!

I never saw a picture yet

As great and grand as these;

Such tones of colour as transform

The tender green and brown,

When the pink dawn is flushing up,

Or the red sun sinking down;

Such painting as the chestnut bud

Shows in its opening heart;

Such lights as shine ‘twixt earth and sky

When rain-clouds break apart;

Such soft, warm, subtle tints, as lie

In every mossy patch-

On the blue-brown trunks, now filled with life,

And the humble roof of thatch,-

In the purple hollows of the hills,

In the lichen on the wall,

In the orchard and the feathery woods,

And the sun-lit waterfall.

I like my humble country ways,

My simple, early meals;

I like to potter about the yard,

With my chickens at my heels.

I’d rather climb this brambly steep,

Where freshest sea-winds blow,

With my old straw hat hanging down my back.

Than canter along the Row.

To me (it’s vulgar, dear, I know)

No fête is half so gay

As a cricket-match on the village green,

Or a picnic in the hay.

Ah, yes! I’m happier as I am,-

I’m ignorant, you see;

And the life of fashion that you love

Would never do for me.

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A few random poems:

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Poems in English 

• Robert Burns: Extempore On Some Commemorations Of Thomson: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epigram On Seeing Miss Fontenelle In A Favourite Character: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Rights Of Woman: An Occasional Address. Spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her benefit night, November 26, 1792. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Auld Rob Morris: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Highland Mary: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: My Wife’s A Winsome Wee Thing: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: I’ll Meet Thee On The Lea Rig: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Fragment Of Song: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Saw Ye Bonie Lesley: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Love For Love: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Bessy And Her Spinnin’ Wheel: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Country Lass: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Deil’s Awa Wi’ The Exciseman: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Deuks Dang O’er My Daddie: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: O Can Ye Labour Lea?: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Slave’s Lament: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Kellyburn Braes: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lady Mary Ann: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Sic A Wife As Willie Had: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: My Collier Laddie: by Robert Burns

More external links (open in a new tab):

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Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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