#ScottishWriters
O wild and dark! a night hath foun… Wherein I mingle with that elemen… Sent madly loose through the wide… In yon tormented branches! I will… A while unto the storm, and thence…
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,
As to her child a mother calls, ‘Come to me, child; come near!’ Calling, in silent intervals, The Master’s voice I hear. But does he call me verily?
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
When at Philippi, he who would ha… Great Rome from tyrants, for the… That lay 'twixt him and battle, so… From painful thoughts, he in a boo… That so the death of Portia might…
I woke at midnight, and my heart, My beating heart, said this to me: Thou seest the moon, how calm and… The world is fair by day and night… But what is that to thee?
Methought that in a solemn church… Its marble acres, worn with knees… Lay spread from door to door, from… Midway the form hung high upon the… Of him who gave his life to be our…
Gray clouds my heaven have covered… My sea ebbs fast, no more to flow; Ghastly and dry, my desert shore Parched, bare, unsightly things do… ’Tis thou, Lord, cloudest up my s…
Make not of thy heart a casket, Opening seldom, quick to close; But of bread a wide-mouthed basket… Or a cup that overflows.
My little boy, with smooth, fair c… And dreamy, large, brown eyes, Not often, little wisehead, speaks… But hearing, weighs and tries. ‘God is not only in the sky,’
Forth from the city, with the load That makes the trampling low, They walk along the dreary road That dust and ashes go. The other way, toward the gate
I was very cold In the summer weather; The sun shone all his gold, But I was very cold– Alas, we were grown old,
Methought I stood among the stars… Watching a grey parched orb which… Half blinded by the dusty winds th… Empty as Death and barren as a st… The pleasant sound of water all un…
What life it is, and how that all… With outward maker’s force, or lik… Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia To L.P.M.D.
‘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,