Robert Burns is paraphrased more than quoted because so much of his vocabulary sounds archaic today.
On the front of the yellow cigarette box is a poem by Robert Burns that Gram likes to sing to an old Irish tune: Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes.
Christina Baker Kline -- Orphan Train
I know it’s a poem by Robert Burns.
J.D. Salinger -- The Catcher in the Rye
Robert Burns, "It was a’ for our Rightfu’ King," II.
James Fenimore Cooper -- The Deerslayer
"I can hear my thrush, my Hylocichla guttata pritchardi," he said, and then he quoted his favorite poet, Robert Burns: " ’Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough.’ "
Gloria Whelan -- Listening for Lions
Earlier, Robert Burns has given us a song or two.
Ralph Waldo Emerson -- Selected Essays
Jill McCorkle -- Ferris Beach
The smaller girl put in his lap Robert Burns, the tomcat, respected by all because last summer when a large brown bear had walked a boom log onto the dwelling float, he had greeted him with such an outraged screech that the bear had fallen off the log and into the chuck.
Margaret Craven -- I Heard the Owl Call My Name
Now and again an Emily Brontė or a Robert Burns blazes out and proves its presence.