#Scots #XIXCentury
I know not what among the grass th… Thy nature, nor thy substance, fai… Nor what to other eyes thou hast o… To send thine image through them t… But when I push the frosty leaves…
Little White Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little White Lily
Trust my father, saith the eldest-… I did trust him ere the earth bega… Not to know him is to be forlorn; Not to love him is-not to be man. He that knows him loves him altoge…
Methought that in a solemn church… Its marble acres, worn with knees… Lay spread from door to door, from… Midway the form hung high upon the… Of him who gave his life to be our…
Oh! is it Death that comes To have a foretaste of the whole? To-night the planets and the stars Will glimmer through my window-bar… But will not shine upon my soul!
Come to me, come to me, O my God; Come to me everywhere! Let the trees mean thee, and the g… And the water and the air! For thou art so far that I often…
Hark, the rain is on my roof! Every murmur, through the dark, Stings me with a dull reproof Like a half-extinguished spark. Me! ah me! how came I here,
’Tis not the violent hands alone t… The curse, the ravage, and the dow… Although to these full oft the yaw… Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener… A more immortal agony will cling
‘What! you Dr. Doddridge’s dog, a… My little dog, who blessed you With such white toothy-pegs? And who was it that dressed you In such a lot of legs?
As to her child a mother calls, ‘Come to me, child; come near!’ Calling, in silent intervals, The Master’s voice I hear. But does he call me verily?
A power is on me, and my soul must… To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom… With those white-headed children.… To commune with thy setting, and t… My doubts on thy grey hair; for I…
Here stands a giant stone from who… Comes down the sounding water: let… Till every sense of man and human… Is wrecked and quenched for ever,… Into the whirl of time, and withou…
O Mother Earth, I have a fear Which I would tell to thee– Softly and gently in thine ear When the moon and we are three. Thy grass and flowers are beautifu…
Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows In the ways below! Smoking, smouldering Tophets
It is no winter night comes down Upon our hearts, dear friends of o… But a May evening, softly brown, Whose wind is rather cold. We are not, like yon sad-eyed Wes…
