#ScottishWriters
With wandering eyes and aimless ze… She hither, thither, goes; Her speech, her motions, all revea… A mind without repose. She climbs the hills, she haunts t…
When thy heart, love-filled, grows… And eternal bliss looks nearer, Ask thy heart, nor show it favour, Is the gift or giver dearer? Love, love on; love higher, deeper…
‘They have no more wine!’ she said… But they had enough of bread; And the vessels by the door Held for thirst a plenteous store: Yes,
A thousand houses of poesy stand a… They fill the earth and they fill… air; But to-night they have shut their… windows fair,
Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leu… Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute, Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen.
King Cole he reigned in Aureoland… But the sceptre was seldom in his… Far oftener was there his golden c… He ate too much, but he drank all… To be called a king and to be a ki…
Mourner, that dost deserve thy mou… Call thyself punished, call the ea… Say, ‘God is angry, and I earned… I would not have him smile on wick… Say this, and straightway all thy…
O Lord, my God, how long Shall my poor heart pant for a bou… How long, O mighty Spirit, shall… The murmur of Truth’s crystal wat… From the deep caverns of their end…
O do not leave me, mother, lest I… Till I forget, be near me in that… The mother’s presence leads her do… Leaves her contented there. O do not leave me, lover, brother,…
The hinges are so rusty The door is fixed and fast; The windows are so dusty The sun looks in aghast: Knock out the glass, I pray,
Cold my heart, and poor, and low, Like thy stable in the rock; Do not let it orphan go, It is of thy parent stock! Come thou in, and it will grow
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,
‘Murmuring, ’twixt a murmur and mo… Many a tune in a single tone, For every ear with a secret true– The sea-shell wants to whisper to… ‘Yes-I hear it-far and faint,
Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows In the ways below! Smoking, smouldering Tophets
’Tis the midnight hour; I heard The Abbey-bell give out the word. Seldom is the lamp-ray shed On some dwarfed foot-farer’s head In the deep and narrow street