#Couplet #Living #Nature #ScottishWriters #Summer #Youth
O CHIEF director of the growing… Of Rome the glory and of Rome the… Me, O Quintilian, may you not for… Before from labour I make haste t… Some burn to gather wealth, lay ha…
AS when the hunt by holt and fiel… Drives on with horn and strife, Hunger of hopeless things pursues Our spirits throughout life. The sea’s roar fills us aching ful…
The sun is not a—bed, when I At night upon my pillow lie; Still round the earth his way he t… And morning after morning makes. While here at home, in shining day…
Birds all the summer day Flutter and quarrel Here in the arbour—like Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork
Whenever the moon and stars are se… Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet… A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires a…
Let Beauty awake in the morn from… Beauty awake from rest! Let Beauty awake For Beauty’s sake In the hour when the birds awake i…
As One Who Having Wandered All… AS one who having wandered all ni… In a perplexed forest, comes at le… In the first hours, about the mati… And when the sun uprises in his st…
THE UNFATHOMABLE sea, and t… The deeds of heroes and the crimes… Dispart us; and the river of event… Has, for an age of years, to east… More widely borne our cradles. Th…
Resign the rhapsody, the dream, To men of larger reach; Be ours the quest of a plain theme… The piety of speech. As monkish scribes from morning br…
To the heart of youth the world is… Passing for ever, he fares; and on… Deep in the gardens golden pavilio… Nestle in orchard bloom, and far o… Call him with lighted lamp in the…
WHEN loud by landside streamlets… And clear in the greenwood quires… With sun on the meadows And songs in the shadows Comes again to me
Last, to the chamber where I lie My fearful footsteps patter nigh, And come out from the cold and glo… Into my warm and cheerful room. There, safe arrived, we turn about
Sing me a song of a lad that is go… Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
Blows the wind to-day, and the sun… Blows the wind on the moors to-day… Where about the graves of the mart… My heart remembers how! Grey recumbent tombs of the dead i…
“Chief of our aunts”—not only I, But all your dozen of nurselings c… “What did the other children do? And what were childhood, wanting y…