Robert Burns

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?