#ScottishWriters
NOW Antoninus, in a smiling age, Counts of his life the fifteenth f… The rounded days and the safe year… Nor fears death’s water mounting r… To him remembering not one day is…
My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor’s coat And starts me in the dark. At night I go on board and say
In the beloved hour that ushers da… In the pure dew, under the breakin… One bird, ere yet the woodland qui… With brief reveille summons all th… Chirp, chirp, it goes; nor waits a…
O DULL cold northern sky, O brawling sabbath bells, O feebly twittering Autumn bird t… The year is like to die! O still, spoiled trees, O city wa…
She rested by the Broken Brook, She drank of Weary Well, She moved beyond my lingering look… Ah, whither none can tell! She came, she went. In other lan…
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
Smooth it glides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Say not of me, that weakly I decl… The labours of my siers, and fled… The towers we founded and the lamp… To play at home with paper like a… But rather say: In the afternoon…
Not undelightful, friend, our rust… To grateful hearts; for by especia… Deep nested in the hill’s enormous… With its own ring of walls and gro… Sits, in deep shelter, our small c…
Dear Thamson class, whaure’er I g… It aye comes ower me wi’ a spang: “Lordsake! They Thamson lads - (… Or else lord mend them!) - An’ that Wanchancy annual sang
I SEND to you, commissioners, A paper that may please ye, sirs (For troth they say it might be wo… An’ I believe’t) And on your business lay my curse
WHAT is the face, the fairest fa… Till Care the graver —Care with c… Etches content thereon and makes i… Or constancy, and love, and makes…
Friend, in my mountain-side demesn… My plain-beholding, rosy, green And linnet-haunted garden-ground, Let still the esculents abound. Let first the onion flourish there…
IT blows a snowing gale in the wi… The boats are on the sea and the c… The needle of the vane, it is veer… A flash of sun is on the veering o… Autumn leaves and rain,
Out of the sun, out of the blast, Out of the world, alone I passed Across the moor and through the wo… To where the monastery stood. There neither lute nor breathing f…