#ScottishWriters
On stark and tortured wire Where refuse of war lies Tangled in mire— When God is flinging Rain down the skies—
JUNE! the joyous, sun-filled mon… When roses, emblems of a heaven, c… Strange melodies in garden and in… With blithesome birds that sing in… Of English lanes; and thousand ot…
It lay on the hill, A sack on its face, Collarless, Stiff and still, Its two feet bare
OUT, out into the wind-swept clea… Whose purple canopy, the sky, is b… With the soft splendour of the ful… And a thousand stars that mystical… Strange melodies upborne on the co…
Take thou this box, O Heart’s Desire; In it lies thy ring And more, my heart, bleeding ; Take out thy ring,
THE hour is drowsed with things o… That round my tottering senses cre… Like subtle wandering scents, so r… They might ensweeten fairies’ hair… And I am walking in a glade
Lo! there she comes from afar Her eyes tender as moonlight Or the evening star On a purple night In Autumn! See!
O spirit of my Fate keen-eyed, fi… Thou lead’st me not to pleasant pl… Rich in gold of setting suns, wher… Slim sylphs in silken draperies, w… With luring elfish eyes as they fl…
You hide your grief, Mother, But in lonely twilight times You silently weep for another Who is dead. Alone, you mourn thus;
I HAVE leaned on God And have been comforted by Him: My fears have been allayed ; My terror of Death has been forgo… My frightened heart
I WANDER in the dawn to where t… I hear the songs of singing birds;… I hear the faint hum of flies; and… All things fill my soul with prais… I do not ask for dim cathedral pla…
It is not sweet to die for one’s c… I saw a dead man stinking in a tre… Where even flies would sicken with… Ah! is it sweet to die for one’s c… His face had rotted black as ebony…
The moon—frozen eye— Stares down stupidly, And the wind licks A few bare sticks, Once trees:
A DIGGER he digs in the dark In the naked remains of a wood, For his friend that lies stiff and… On his head hard blood for a hood: The digging is painful and slow,
Think not of me as facing death, Tattered, labouring for breath ; Rather think of one who strays Dreaming dreams by perfumed ways. Soon I may die, ah! true, ’tis tr…