Kiss me: there now, little Neddy, Do you see her staring steady? There again you had a chance of he… Didn’t you catch the pretty glance… See her nest! On any planet

Dead art thou? No more dead than… Over whose couch the saving God d… ‘She is not dead but sleepeth,’ sa… And took her by the hand! Thee knowledge never from Life’s…

Who would have thought that even a… Were such a holy and celestial thi… That wickedness and envy cannot si… That music for no moment lives wit… I know this, for a very grievous t…

All sights and sounds of day and y… All groups and forms, each leaf an… Are thine, O God, nor will I fea… To talk to thee of them .

Satan, avaunt! Nay, take thine hour, Thou canst not daunt, Thou hast no power; Be welcome to thy nest,

Ave! Once more touch the strings That Memory may feed upon the str… And over-live again The days, When the heart gloried in the gold…

Of whispering trees the tongues to… And sermons of the silent stone; To read in brooks the print so cle… Of motion, shadowy light, and tone… That man hath neither eye nor ear

Sweep up the flure, Janet; Put on anither peat. It’s a lown and a starry nicht, J… And nowther cauld nor weet. It’s the nicht atween the Sancts…

Nature, to him no message dost tho… Who in thy beauty findeth not the… To gird himself more strongly for… Of night and darkness. Oh, what c… The woods, the valleys, and the mo…

A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit au… Gangs a’ nicht rakin athort the wa… Wi’ a pock on his back, luikin hun… His crook-fingert han’ aye followi… He gathers up a’thing that canna b…

And should the twilight darken int… And sorrow grow to anguish, be tho… Thou art in God, and nothing can… Which a fresh life-pulse cannot se… That thou dost know the darkness,…

‘O lat me in, my bonny lass! It’s a lang road ower the hill, And the flauchterin snaw begud to… On the brig ayont the mill!’ ‘Here’s nae change-hoose, John Mu…

She comes! again she comes, the br… Under a ragged cloud I found her… Clasping her own dark orb like hop… That ragged cloud hath waited her… And he hath found and he will hide…

They say that lonely sorrows do no… More gently, I think, sorrows tog… A new one joins the funeral glidin… With less of jar than when it brea… Grief swages grief, and joy doth j…

Autumn clouds are flying, flying O’er the waste of blue; Summer flowers are dying, dying, Late so lovely new. Labouring wains are slowly rolling