#ScottishWriters
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…
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…
Let me not think of blood to-night… So doing It will be harder still to fight: Peace’s wooing Sucks blood making me white
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…
The moon—frozen eye— Stares down stupidly, And the wind licks A few bare sticks, Once trees:
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…
Weak and faltering, drifting by, I pray Thee, Lord, take Thou the… No captain of my soul am I, Weak and faltering, drifting by! I do not ask Thee, Whither? Why?
We met a strange old man to-day (As we strolled in the ruined plac… And he smiled to us as we came his… With gentle, wistful grace. ‘ Ah! Messieurs, it is very sad’
I hear the dull, low thunder of th… Beyond the hills that doze uneasil… A sullen doomful growl that ever r… From end to end of the heavy freig… A friend of mine writes, squatted…
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…
A dead man dead for weeks Is sickening food for lover’s eye That seeks and ever seeks A fair one’s beauty ardently! Did that thing live of late?
Ah! when it rains all day And the sky is a mist That creeps by chillily Where sun once kissed, Like death pale shroud,
Lo! there she comes from afar Her eyes tender as moonlight Or the evening star On a purple night In Autumn! See!
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…
