#ScottishWriters
In the endless nights, from my bed… I startle the stillness and gloom… 0 Love! 0 Beloved long lost! come… For my heart is wasting and dying… Come down for a moment! oh, come!…
His eyes found nothing beautiful a… Nor wealth nor honour, glory nor d… Which he could grasp and keep with… Flowers bloomed for maidens, sword… The world’s big children had their…
A near the dying of that royal day Those amber-vested hills began to… And soon a lofty Pharos, gleaming… Upon its isle set darkly in the li… Beckoned us onward to the spacious…
‘WHILE the trees grow, While the streams flow, While the winds blow, We will be free: Free as trees growing,
Waking one morning In a pleasant land, By a river flowing Over golden sand:— Whence flow ye, waters,
The fire that filled my heart of o… Gave luster while it burned; Now only ashes gray and cold Are in its silence urned. Ah! better was the furious flame,
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king, Our king all kings above? A young girl brought him love; And he dowered her with shame,
That one long dirge-moan sad and d… Low, muffled by the solemn stress Of such emotion as doth steep The soul in brooding quietness, Befits our anguished time too well…
WHAT are these leaves dark-spott… ‘A very holy herb.’ To what good use may I this herb… 'Press it on thy soul’s hurt.’ When herb unto the hurt I thus ap…
THE CHURCH stands there beyond… How yearningly I gaze upon its sp… Lifted mysterious through the twil… Dissolving in the sunset’s golden… Or dim as slender incense morn by…
FROM out the house I crept, The house which long had caged my… The mighty City in vast silence s… Dreaming away its tumult, toil, an… But sleep and sleep’s rich dreams…
THROUGH foulest fogs of my own… Through midnight glooms of all the… Through sulphurous cannon-clouds t… Above the steam of blood in anger… Through all the sombre earth-oppre…
WHEN one is forty years and seve… Is seven and forty sad years old, He looks not onward for his Heave… The future is too blank and cold, Its pale flowers smell of graveyar…
He cried out through the night: “Where is the light? Shall nevermore Open Heaven’s door? Oh, I am left
What precious thing are you making… In all these silken lines? And where and to whom will it go a… Such subtle knots and twines! I am tying up all my love in this,