#ScottishWriters
I ASK good things that I detest, With speeches fair; Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my… But hear my prayer. I say ill things I would not say…
TO what shall I compare her, That is as fair as she? For she is fairer —fairer Than the sea. What shall be likened to her,
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,
Yet, O stricken heart, remember,… How of human days he lived the bet… April came to bloom and never dim… Breathed its killing chills upon t… Doomed to know not winter, only S…
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,
Three of us afloat in the meadow b… Three of us abroad in the basket o… Winds are in the air, they are blo… And waves are on the meadow like t… Where shall we adventure, to—day t…
Soon our friends perish, Soon all we cherish Fades as days darken —goes as flow… Soon in December Over an ember,
THE cock’s clear voice into the c… Where westward far I roam, Mounts with a thrill of hope, Falls with a sigh of home. A rural sentry, he from farm and f…
THIS gloomy northern day, Or this yet gloomier night, Has moved a something high In my cold heart; and I, That do not often pray,
Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and the gorse about In summer bloom were coming out,
Bright is the ring of words When the right man rings them, Fair the fall of songs When the singer sings them. Still they are carolled and said —
The strong man’s hand, the snow—co… The certain—footed sympathies of y… These, and that lofty passion afte… Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sa… Or the great men of former years,…
My tea is nearly ready and the sun… It’s time to take the window to se… For every night at teatime and bef… With lantern and with ladder he co… Now Tom would be a driver and Mar…
The lamps now glitter down the str… Faintly sound the falling feet; And the blue even slowly falls About the garden trees and walls. Now in the falling of the gloom
A picture-frame for you to fill, A paltry setting for your face, A thing that has no worth until You lend it something of your grac… I send (unhappy I that sing