#ScottishWriters
Do you remember —can we e’er forge… How, in the coiled-perplexities of… In our wild climate, in our scowli… We gloomed and shivered, sorrowed,… The belching winter wind, the miss…
CALL it to mind, O my love. Dear were your eyes as the day, Bright as the day and the sky; Like the stream of gold and the sk… Dear were your eyes in the grey.
Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore… Sing truer or no longer sing! No more the voice of melancholy J… To wake a weeping echo in the hill… But as the boy, the pirate of the…
IN Schnee der Alpen– so it runs To those divine accords– and here We dwell in Alpine snows and suns… A motley crew, for half the year: A motley crew, we dwell to taste—
Soon our friends perish, Soon all we cherish Fades as days darken —goes as flow… Soon in December Over an ember,
OVER the land is April, Over my heart a rose; Over the high, brown mountain The sound of singing goes. Say, love, do you hear me,
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…
About my fields, in the broad sun And blaze of noon, there goeth one… Barefoot and robed in blue, to sca… With the hard eye of the husbandma… My harvests and my cattle. Her,
To you, let snow and roses And golden locks belong. These are the world’s enslavers, Let these delight the throng. For her of duskier lustre
I will make you brooches and toys… Of bird-song at morning and star-s… I will make a palace fit for you a… Of green days in forests and blue… I will make my kitchen, and you sh…
WHAT man may learn, what man may… Of right or wrong of false or true… While, skipper—like, his course he… Through nine and twenty mingled ye… Half misconceived and half forgot,
The bed was made, the room was fit… By punctual eve the stars were lit… The air was still, the water ran, No need was there for maid or man, When we put up, my ass and I,
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…
Far from the loud sea beaches Where he goes fishing and crying Here in the inland garden Why is the sea-gull flying? Here are no fish to dive for;
STRANGE are the ways of men, And strange the ways of God! We tread the mazy paths That all our fathers trod. We tread them undismayed,