Written in the Cottage Where Burns Was Born + 

This mortal body of a thousand days + 

Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room, + 

Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays, + 

Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom! + 

My pulse is warm with thine old Barley-bree, + 

My head is light with pledging a great soul, + 

My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see, + 

Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal; + 

Yet can I stamp my foot upon thy floor, + 

Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find + 

The meadow thou hast tramped o’er and o’er,⁠— + 

Yet can I think of thee till thought is blind,⁠— + 

Yet can I gulp a bumper to thy name,⁠— + 

O smile among the shades, for this is fame! + 