It’s all very well, Said the Bell, To be the big Organ below! But the folk come and go, Said the Bell,

‘What! you Dr. Doddridge’s dog, a… My little dog, who blessed you With such white toothy-pegs? And who was it that dressed you In such a lot of legs?

Brother artist, help me; come! Artists are a maimed band: I have words but not a hand; Thou hast hands though thou art du… Had I thine, when words did fail–

There cam a man to oor toon-en’, And a waesome carl was he, Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou’d, And gleyt o’ a blinterin ee. Muckle he spied, and muckle he spa…

SO shall abundant entrance me be… Into the truth, my life’s inherita… Lo! as the sun shoots straight fro… God-floated, casting round a lordl… Into the corners of his endless ro…

Kiss me: there now, little Neddy, Do you see her staring steady? There again you had a chance of he… Didn’t you catch the pretty glance… See her nest! On any planet

A still dark joy! A sudden face! Cold daylight, footsteps, cries! The temple’s naked, shining space, Aglare with judging eyes! All in abandoned guilty hair,

I dinna ken what’s come ower me! There’s a how whaur ance was a her… I never luik oot afore me, An’ a cry winna gar me stert; There’s naething nae mair to come…

I TO myself have neither power no… Patience nor love, nor anything ri… My soul is a poor land, plenteous… Here blades of grass, there a smal… A nothing that would be something…

Hears’t thou the dash of water, lo… With its perpetual tidings upward… Struggling against the wind? Oh,… For not in vain from its portentou… Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearn…

‘Grant, Lord, her prayer, and let… She crieth after us.’ Nay, to the dogs ye cast it so; Serve not a woman thus. Their pride, by condescension fed,

Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows In the ways below! Smoking, smouldering Tophets

Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snow… Buried in sepulchre of ghastly sno… But spring is floating up the sout… And darkling the pale snowdrop wai… Let me persuade: in dull December…

Christmas-Days are still in store… Will they change-steal faded hithe… Or come fresh as heretofore, Summering all our winter weather? Surely they will keep their bloom

A thousand houses of poesy stand a… They fill the earth and they fill… air; But to-night they have shut their… windows fair,