#ScottishWriters
Home no more home to me, whither m… Hunger my driver, I go where I mu… Cold blows the winter wind over hi… Thick drives the rain, and my roof… Loved of wise men was the shade of…
The sheets were frozen hard, and t… The decks were like a slide, where… The wind was a nor’wester, blowing… And cliffs and spouting breakers w… They heard the surf a—roaring befo…
Where the bells peal far at sea Cunning fingers fashioned me. There on palace walls I hung While that Consuelo sung; But I heard, though I listened we…
Some day soon this rhyming volume,… Little Louis Sanchez, will be giv… Then you shall discover, that your… By the English printers, long bef… In the great and busy city where t…
Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hand… And looked abroad in foreign lands… I saw the next door garden lie,
FOR some abiding central source o… Strong—smitten steady chords, ye s… And, flowing, carry virtue. Far b… The vain tumultuous passions of th… Fleet fast and disappear; and as t…
BEYOND the gates thou gav’st a… I have a larger on my window—sill. A farm, d’ye say? Is this a farm… Where for all woods I spay one tu… And that so rusty, and so small a…
The sun is not a—bed, when I At night upon my pillow lie; Still round the earth his way he t… And morning after morning makes. While here at home, in shining day…
All the names I know from nurse: Gardener’s garters, Shepherd’s pu… Bachelor’s buttons, Lady’s smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things,
Go, little book, and wish to all Flowers in the garden, meat in the… A bin of wine, a spice of wit, A house with lawns enclosing it, A living river by the door,
When the grass was closely mown, Walking on the lawn alone, In the turf a hole I found And hid a soldier underground. Spring and daisies came apace;
The year runs through her phases;… Springtime and summer pass; winter… But one pale season rules the hous… Cold falls the imprisoned daylight… By each lean pallet squats, and pa…
THE old Chimaeras, old receipts For making “happy land,” The old political beliefs Swam close before my hand. The grand old communistic myths
It is not yours, O mother, to com… Not, mother, yours to weep, Though nevermore your son again Shall to your bosom creep, Though nevermore again you watch y…
THERE’S just a twinkle in your… That seems to say I MIGHT, if… Were only bold enough to try An arm about your waist. I hear, too, as you come and go,