Robert Burns Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Robert Burns

Robert, Robert, whither go?
'Its the night
And 'tis
the chill
Ah! I see your test of life
Poet's chords of its sweet thrill!

Night, moon, day, dusk, dawn
all together gather round
when you pipe your verses
sweet and the animals and
plants stir in magic, magic-bound.

Robert, Robert, whither go?
Father of children, of verse more,
Forget poverty - you had all!
And I hear distant sounds
from the Scottish hills abound
nocturnal chanting verses round
verses yours,
high rocks, cataracts, the deep vales
the wise owl, the nightingales,
spell bound dance in Tartan trance.
Robert, Robert, whither go?