#ScottishWriters
I. I honour Nature, holding it un… To look with jealousy on her desig… With every passing year more fast… About my heart; with her mysteriou… Claim I a fellowship not less aug…
A gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea, Wakes daisies in the wintry earth, Wakes hopes in wintry me. The sun is low; the paths are wet,
There was a girl that lost things– Nor only from her hand; She lost, indeed-why, most things, As if they had been sand! She said, 'But I must use them,
Bands of dark and bands of light Lie athwart the homeward way; Now we cross a belt of Night, Now a strip of shining Day! Now it is a month of June,
The Year Of The Trouble In Lanc… The skies are pale, the trees are… The earth is dull and old; The frost is glittering as if The very sun were cold.
There is not any weed but hath its… There is not any pool but hath its… And black and muddy though the wat… We may not miss the glory of a flo… And winter moons will give them ma…
O Mother Earth, I have a fear Which I would tell to thee– Softly and gently in thine ear When the moon and we are three. Thy grass and flowers are beautifu…
Came of old to houses lonely Men with wings, but did not show t… Angels come to our house, only, For their wings, they do not know…
There is a bellowing in me, as of… Unfleshed and visionless, mangling… With horrible convulse, as if it b… The cruel weight of worlds, but co… With the thick-dropping clods, and…
Forth to his study the sculptor go… In a mood of lofty mirth: ‘Now shall the tongues of my carpi… Confess what my art is worth! In my brain last night the vision…
Annie she’s dowie, and Willie he’… What can be the matter wi’ siccan… For Annie she’s fair as the first… And Willie he’s honest and stalwa… Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor a…
Prince Breacan of Denmark was lor… And lord of the billowy sea; Lord of the sea and lord of the la… He might have let maidens be! A maiden he met with locks of gold…
REMEMBER, Lord, thou hast not… Or if thou didst, it was so long a… I have forgotten-and never underst… I humbly think. At best it was a… A rough-hewn goodness, that did ne…
A pale green sky is gleaming; The steely stars are few; The moorland pond is steaming A mist of gray and blue. Along the pathway lonely
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur t… Wi’ a clip o’ the sunshine atween… Whaur the birks are a’ straikit wi… And the brume hings its lamps by d… Whaur the burnie comes trottin owe…