#AmericanWriters
In vain you fervently extol, In vain you puff, your cutty clay. A twelvemonth smoked and black as… ’Tis redolent of rank decay And bones of monks long passed awa…
Oh, will the footsteps never be do… The insolent feet Thronging the street, Forsaken now of the only one. The only one out of all the throng…
Weak soul, by sense still led astr… Why wilt thou parley with the foe? He seeks to work thine overthrow, And thou, poor fool! dost point th… Hast thou forgotten many a day,
For thee the birds shall never sin… Nor fresh green leaves come out up… The brook shall no more murmur the… For thee. Thou liest underneath the windswep…
The voice that sings across the ni… Of long forgotten days and things, Is there an ear to hear aright The voice that sings? It is as when a curfew rings
Oh, who may this dead warrior be That to his grave they bring? ’Tis William, Duke of Normandy, The conqueror and king. Across the sea, with fire and swor…
This is the time when larks are si… And higher still ascending and mor… This is the time when many a fleec… Runs lamb-like on the pastures of… This is the time when most I love…
Would you like to see a city given… Soul and body, to a tyrannising ga… If you would, there’s little need… For St. Andrews is the abject cit… It is surely quite superfluous to…
How many the troubles that wait On mortals!'especially those Who endeavour in eloquent prose To expound their views, and orate. Did you ever attempt to speak
Life is a house where many chamber… And all the doors will yield to hi… Save one, whereof men say, behind… The haunting secret. He who keeps… Keeps it securely, smiles perchanc…
Ah yes, we know what you’re saying… As your eye glances over these No… ‘What asses are these that are bra… With flat and unmusical throats? Who writes such unspeakable patter…
On Her Marriage As those who hear a sweet bird sin… And love each song it sings the be… Grieve when they see it taking win… And flying to another nest:
The lady stood at the station bar, (Three currants in a bun) And oh she was proud, as ladies ar… (And the bun was baked a week ago.… For a weekly wage she was standing…
The truest Liberal is he Who sees the man in each degree, Who merit in a churl can prize, And baseness in an earl despise, Yet censures baseness in a churl,
The sun shines fair on Tweedside,… Your heart is full of pleasure, yo… Your cheeks are like the morning,… Or morning and her dew-drops are l… Because you are a princess, a prin…