#Scots #XIXCentury
I shall be satisfied With the seeing of thy face. When I awake, wide-eyed, I shall be satisfied With what this life did hide,
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…
Little White Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little White Lily
When the clock hath ceased to tick Soul-like in the gloomy hall; When the latch no more doth click Tongue-like in the red peach-wall; When no more come sounds of play,
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…
When, long ago, the daring of my y… Drew nigh thy greatness with a lit… Thou didst receive me; and thy sky… Has domed me since, a heaven of sh… Made homely by the tenderness and…
When the summer gave us a longer d… And the leaves were thickest, I w… Like an isle, through dark clouds,… Was that summer-ramble from Londo… It was but one burst into life and…
Winter froze both brook and well; Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; Children gathered round the hearth Made a summer of their mirth; When a boy, so lately come
‘They have no more wine!’ she said… But they had enough of bread; And the vessels by the door Held for thirst a plenteous store: Yes,
Power that is not of God, however… Is but the downward rushing and th… Of a swift meteor that hath lost i… In the one impulse which doth anim… The parent mass: emblem to me of f…
Where went the feet that hitherto… Here yawns no gulf to quench the f… With lengthening pauses broke, the… The grass floats in; the gazer sta… Tremble not, maiden, though the fo…
‘And yet it moves!’ Ah, Truth, wh… When all for thee they racked each… Wert thou in heaven, and busy with… When those poor hands convulsed th… Art thou a phantom that deceives!…
Now have I grown a sharpness and… Unto my future nights, and I will… Sheer through the ebon gates that… On every set of day; or as a sledg… Drawn over snowy plains; where not…
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…
I cannot write old verses here, Dead things a thousand years away, When all the life of the young yea… Is in the summer day. The roses make the world so sweet,