O Raging Fortune's Withering Blast


O raging Fortune's withering blast Has laid my leaf full low! O O raging Fortune's withering blast Has laid my leaf full low! O My stem was fair my bud was green My blossom sweet did blow; O The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, And made my branches grow; O But luckless Fortune's northern storms Laid a' my blossoms low, O But luckless Fortune's northern storms Laid a' my blossoms low, O.

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Juliet Cadzow

About this work

This is a poem by Robert Burns. It is read here by Juliet Cadzow.

Themes for this poem

nature farming poverty

Selected for 11 February

The beginning of this month may have marked the beginning of spring for the Celtic devotees of Saint Brigid but it was at Braemar on February 11, 1895, that arguably the lowest temperature ever recorded in Scotland, a thermometer-cracking minus 27.2 degrees Celsius, had people cursing the cold, as Burns does here. In this self-pityingly melodramatic poem, as the wild winds blow and spring reverts to winter, the worsening weather is mostly metaphorical.

Donny O'Rourke

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