#Scots #XIXCentury
O Earth, Earth, Earth, I am dying for love of thee, For thou hast given me birth, And thy hands have tended me. I would fall asleep on thy breast
Above my head the great pine-branc… Backwards and forwards each to the… Beckoning the tempest-cloud which… Like a slow-laboured thought, heav… Hark to the patter of the coming s…
Come unto me, the Master says:- But how? I am not good; No thankful song my heart will rai… Nor even wish it could. I am not sorry for the past,
Were thou and I the white pinions On some eager, heaven-born dove, Swift would we mount to the old do… To our rest of old, my love! Were thou and I trembling strands
If I were a monk, and thou wert a… Pacing it wearily, wearily, Twixt chapel and cell till day wer… Wearily, wearily– How would it fare with these heart…
Everything goes to its rest; The hills are asleep in the noon; And life is as still in its nest As the moon when she looks on a mo… In the depth of a calm river’s bre…
Better to smell the violet Than sip the glowing wine; Better to hearken to a brook Than watch a diamond shine. Better to have a loving friend
It is May, and the moon leans dow… Over a blossomy land; Leans from her window a lady white… With her cheek upon her hand. ‘Oh, why in the blue so misty, moo…
This is the sweetness of an April… The softness of the spring is on t… Of the old year. She has no natur… But something comes to her from fa… Out of the Past, and on her old d…
Are the leaves falling round about The churchyard on the hill? Is the glow of autumn going out? Is that the winter chill? And yet through winter’s noise, no…
It is no winter night comes down Upon our hearts, dear friends of o… But a May evening, softly brown, Whose wind is rather cold. We are not, like yon sad-eyed Wes…
How shall he sing who hath no song… He laugh who hath no mirth? Will cannot wake the sleeping song… Yea, Love itself in vain may long To sing with them that have a song…
O night, send up the harvest moon To walk about the fields, And make of midnight magic noon On lonely tarns and wealds. In golden ranks, with golden crown…
A brown bird sang on a blossomy tr… Sang in the moonshine, merrily, Three little songs, one, two, and… A song for his wife, for himself,… He sang for his wife, sang low, sa…
When round the earth the Father’s… Have gently drawn the dark; Sent off the sun to fresher lands, And curtained in the lark; ’Tis sweet, all tired with glowing…
