Author Robert Burns Many and sharp the numerous illsInwoven with our frame;More pointed still, we make ourselvesRegret, remorse and shame;And man, whose heaven-erected faceThe smiles of love adorn,Man's inhumanity to man,Makes countless thousands mourn. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4.5 (90 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments