Robert Burns

To Alex Cunningham, Esq., Writer

My godlike friend – nay, do not stare,
         You think the phrase is odd-like;
But God is love, the saints declare,
         Then surely thou art god-like.

And is thy ardour still the same?
         And kindled still at Anna?
Others may boast a partial flame,
         But thou art a volcano!

Ev’n Wedlock asks not love beyond
         Death’s tie-dissolving portal;
But thou, omnipotently fond,
         May’st promise love immortal!

Thy wounds such healing powers defy,
         Such symptoms dire attend them,
That last great antihectic try –
         Marriage perhaps may mend them.

Sweet Anna has an air – a grace,
         Divine, magnetic, touching:
She talks, she charms – but who can trace
         The process of bewitching?