#ScottishWriters
I HEAR a rat scurrying At the end o’ the street Across the moon-lit stones, hurryi… To dingier retreat— A ruined house against the moon,
The moon—frozen eye— Stares down stupidly, And the wind licks A few bare sticks, Once trees:
Weak and faltering, drifting by, I pray Thee, Lord, take Thou the… No captain of my soul am I, Weak and faltering, drifting by! I do not ask Thee, Whither? Why?
I hear the dull, low thunder of th… Beyond the hills that doze uneasil… A sullen doomful growl that ever r… From end to end of the heavy freig… A friend of mine writes, squatted…
JUNE! the joyous, sun-filled mon… When roses, emblems of a heaven, c… Strange melodies in garden and in… With blithesome birds that sing in… Of English lanes; and thousand ot…
Have you seen men come from the L… Tottering, doddering, as if bad wi… Had drugged their very souls; Their garments rent with holes And caked with mud
Lo! there she comes from afar Her eyes tender as moonlight Or the evening star On a purple night In Autumn! See!
Ah! when it rains all day And the sky is a mist That creeps by chillily Where sun once kissed, Like death pale shroud,
We met a strange old man to-day (As we strolled in the ruined plac… And he smiled to us as we came his… With gentle, wistful grace. ‘ Ah! Messieurs, it is very sad’
You hide your grief, Mother, But in lonely twilight times You silently weep for another Who is dead. Alone, you mourn thus;
A dead man dead for weeks Is sickening food for lover’s eye That seeks and ever seeks A fair one’s beauty ardently! Did that thing live of late?
I AM not brave As others seem to be ; But, like a knave, I cringe in misery: I cannot face
I PRAY to God at night, Tho’ I know not where He is Nor what He is; Nor whether I am right: I pray to God at night.
A DIGGER he digs in the dark In the naked remains of a wood, For his friend that lies stiff and… On his head hard blood for a hood: The digging is painful and slow,
It lay on the hill, A sack on its face, Collarless, Stiff and still, Its two feet bare