Burns Night

Today is the birthday of the famous 18th century Scottish poet, Robert Burns. When the Englishman was in the Navy Burns Suppers to celebrate this date were a regular fixture on the social calendar. I'm not sure if this was a naval thing - many of the bases were in Scotland - or just a fashion thing, but the evening would inevitably be a rowdy affair with Haggis and too much drinking.

Tonight, however, instead of celebrating Burns, we are going to celebrate Shakespeare, by going to see Julius Caesar with an all-female cast at The Donmar Warehouse in Soho. Should be interesting.

So I thought I'd share with you a favourite poem by Burns, to pacify his restless soul (I'm guessing here).
 
A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve's like a red, red rose, 
That's newly sprung in June: 
O my Luve's like the melodie, 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonie lass, 
So deep in luve am I; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! 
And fare-thee-weel, a while! 
And I will come again, my Luve, 
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

Red roses have a special significance to the story of The Englishman too, so you can imagine why I like this poem so well!

Hope you have a good time if you are going to a Burns Supper tonight!

1 comment:

Wesley Oksanen said...

aww precious poem!

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