#ScottishWriters
In the desert by the bush, Moses to his heart said Hush David on his bed did pray; God all night went not away.
Who know thee, love: thy life be s… That, ere the year be o’er, Each one who loves thee now so muc… Even God, may love thee more!
Lost the little one roams about, Pathway or shelter none can find; Blinking stars are coming out; No one is moving but the wind; It is no use to cry or shout,
A little bird sat on the edge of h… Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as… Day-long she had worked almost wit… And had filled every one of their… Her own she had filled just over-f…
A fresh young voice that sings to… So often many a simple thing, Should surely not unanswered be By all that I can sing. Dear voice, be happy every way
Through the unchanging heaven, as… Speed onward still, a strange wild… Fleet children of the waters! Glo… Whether the sun lift up his shinin… High throned at noontide and estab…
They were parted then at last? Was it duty, or force, or fate? Or did a worldly blast Blow-to the meeting-gate? An old, short story is this!
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…
Chained is the Spring. The Night… Blows over the hard earth; Time is not more confused and cold… Nor keeps more wintry mirth. Yet blow, and roll the world about…
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,
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,
Who would have thought that even a… Were such a holy and celestial thi… That wickedness and envy cannot si… That music for no moment lives wit… I know this, for a very grievous t…
The bairns i’ their beds, worn oot… Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid win… The auld fowk lie still wi’ their… An’ the mirk pang-fou o’ the thing… Whan oot o’ ilk corner the bairnie…
If thou hadst been a sculptor, wha… Of forms divine had thenceforth fi… Methinks I see thee, glorious wor… Striking a marble window through b… Thy face’s reflex on the coming fa…
Shepherd, on before thy sheep, Hear thy lamb that bleats behind! Scarce the track I stumbling keep… Through my thin fleece blows the w… Turn and see me, Son of Man!