#ScottishWriters
In rigorous hours, when down the i… The redbreast looks in vain For hips and haws, Lo, shining flowers upon my window… The silver pencil of the winter dr…
TO her, for I must still regard h… As feminine in her degree, Who has been my unkind bombarder Year after year, in grief and glee… Year after year, with oaken tree;
MY Martial owns a garden, famed t… Beyond the glades of the Hesperid… Along Janiculum lies the chosen b… Where the cool grottos trench the… The moderate summit, something pla…
The morning drum-call on my eager… Thrills unforgotten yet; the morni… Lies yet undried along my field of… But now I pause at whiles in what… And count the bell, and tremble le…
In the beloved hour that ushers da… In the pure dew, under the breakin… One bird, ere yet the woodland qui… With brief reveille summons all th… Chirp, chirp, it goes; nor waits a…
The human conscience has fled of l… domain of conduct for what I shoul… less congenial field of art: there… rage, and with special severity in… so that in every novel the letters…
It is very nice to think The world is full of meat and drin… With little children saying grace In every Christian kind of place.
AS when the hunt by holt and fiel… Drives on with horn and strife, Hunger of hopeless things pursues Our spirits throughout life. The sea’s roar fills us aching ful…
I am a kind of farthing dip, Unfriendly to the nose and eyes; A blue-behinded ape, I skip Upon the trees of Paradise. At mankind’s feast, I take my pla…
NOW in the sky And on the hearth of Now in a drawer the direful cane, That sceptre of the . . . reign, And the long hawser, that on the b…
The rain is falling all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea.
Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story—books. Water now is turned to stone
THE old Chimaeras, old receipts For making “happy land,” The old political beliefs Swam close before my hand. The grand old communistic myths
LET love go, if go she will. Seek not, O fool, her wanton flig… Of all she gives and takes away The best remains behind her still. The best remains behind; in vain
Late in the nicht in bed I lay, The winds were at their weary play… An’ tirlin’ wa’s an’ skirlin’ wae Through Heev’n they battered; - On-ding o’ hail, on-blaff o’ spray…