#ScottishWriters
It is very nice to think The world is full of meat and drin… With little children saying grace In every Christian kind of place.
FOR these are sacred fishes all Who know that lord that is the lor… Come to the brim and nose the frie… That sways and can beshadow all th… Nor only so, but have their names,…
THE summer sun shone round me, The folded valley lay In a stream of sun and odour, That sultry summer day. The tall trees stood in the sunlig…
For the long nights you lay awake And watched for my unworthy sake: For your most comfortable hand That led me through the uneven lan… For all the story—books you read:
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…
IT’S forth across the roaring foa… It’s many a lonely league from hom… From where the dogs of Scotland c… To where the flags are flying besi… Where all the deep—sea galleons ri…
THE wind may blaw the lee—gang wa… And aye the lift be mirk an’ gray, An deep the moss and steigh the br… Where a’ maun gang — There’s still an hoor in ilka day
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…
Late in the nicht in bed I lay, The winds were at their weary play… An’ tirlin’ wa’s an’ skirlin’ wae Through Heev’n they battered; - On-ding o’ hail, on-blaff o’ spray…
I will make you brooches and toys… Of bird—song at morning and star—s… I will make a palace fit for you a… Of green days in forests and blue… I will make my kitchen, and you sh…
My Treasures These nuts, that I keep in the ba… Where all my tin soldiers are lyin… Were gathered in Autumn by nursie… In a wood with a well by the side…
The gauger walked with willing foo… And aye the gauger played the flut… And what should Master Gauger pla… But Over the hills and far away? Whene’er I buckle on my pack
He hears with gladdened heart the… Peal, and loves the falling dew; He knows the earth above and under… Sits and is content to view. He sits beside the dying ember,
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,
Farewell, fair day and fading ligh… The clay-born here, with westward… Marks the huge sun now downward so… Farewell. We twain shall meet no… Farewell. I watch with bursting…