The Request

I’AVE often wish’d to love; what shall I do?

Me still the cruel boy does spare;

And I a double task must bear,

First to woo him, and then a mistress too.

Come at last and strike, for shame,

If thou art any thing besides a name;

I’ll think thee else no God to be,

But poets rather Gods, who first created thee.

I ask not one in whom all beauties grow;

Let me but love, whate’er she be,

She cannot seem deform’d to me;

And I would have her seem to others so.

Desire takes wings and straight does fly,

It stays not dully to inquire the Why.

That happy thing, a lover, grown,

I shall not see with others’ eyes, scarce with mine own.

If she be coy, and scorn my noble fire;

If her chill heart I cannot move;

Why I’ll enjoy the very love,

And make a mistress of my own desire.

Flames their most vigorous heat do hold,

And purest light, if compass’d round with cold:

So, when sharp winter means most harm,

The springing plants are by the snow itself kept warm.

But do not touch my heart, and so be gone;

Strike deep thy burning arrows in!

Lukewarmness I account a sin,

As great in love as in religion.

Come arm’d with flames; for I would prove

All the extremities of mighty Love.

Th’ excess of heat is but a fable;

We know the torrid zone is now found habitable.

Among the woods and forests thou art found,

There boars and lions thou dost tame;

Is not my heart a nobler game?

Let Venus, men; and beasts, Diana, wound!

Thou dost the birds thy subjects make;

Thy nimble feathers do their wings o’ertake:

Thou all the spring their songs dost hear;

Make me love too, I’ll sing to’ thee all the year!

What service can mute fishes do to thee?

Yet against them thy dart prevails,

Piercing the armour of their scales;

And still thy sea-born mother lives i’th’ sea.

Dost thou deny only to me

The no-great privilege of captivity?

I beg or challenge here thy bow;

Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger, show.

Come! or I ‘ll teach the world to scorn that bow:

I’ll teach them thousand wholesome arts

Both to resist and cure thy darts,

More than thy skilful Ovid e’er did know.

Musick of sighs thou shalt not hear,

Nor drink one wretched lover’s tasteful tear:

Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,

My verses shall not only wound, but murder, thee.

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Poems in English 

• Robert Burns: Epitaph For James Smith: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epitaph On John Dove, Innkeeper: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Halloween: The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.-R.B. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Farewell To Ballochmyle: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Young Peggy Blooms: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Second Epistle to Davie: A Brother Poet by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Masonic Song: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Address To The Toothache: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Farewell Song To The Banks Of Ayr: “I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.”-R. B. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: O Thou Dread Power: Lying at a reverend friend’s house one night, the author left the following verses in the room where he slept:- by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epigram On Rough Roads: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Fragment Of Song: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Brigs Of Ayr: Inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq., Ayr. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Reply To A Trimming Epistle Received From A Tailor: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Willie Chalmers: Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows:- by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Nature’s Law – A Poem: Humbly inscribed to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Calf: To the Rev. James Steven, on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2. “And ye shall go forth, and grow up, as Calves of the stall.” by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Thomson’s Edward and Eleanora.: by Robert Burns

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