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To Alex. Cunningham, Esq., Writer, Edinburgh

by Robert Burns, 1788

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?
  ·      ·      ·      ·      ·      ·

Published in Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.