It seems a hundred years or more Since I, with note-book, ink and… In cap and gown, first trod the fl… Which I have often trod since the… Yet well do I remember when

I have been lonely all my days on… Living a life within my secret sou… With mine own springs of sorrow an… Beyond the world’s control. Though sometimes with vain longing…

Would you like to see a city given… Soul and body, to a tyrannising ga… If you would, there’s little need… For St. Andrews is the abject cit… It is surely quite superfluous to…

My lamp is out, my task is done, And up the stair with lingering fe… I climb. The staircase clock stri… Good night, my love! good night, m… My solitary room I gain.

There’s a fiddler in the street, And the children all are dancing: Two dozen lightsome feet Springing and prancing. Pleasure he gives to you,

Lost Youth, come back again! Laugh at weariness and pain. Come not in dreams, but come in tr… Lost Youth. Sweetheart of long ago,

The lady stood at the station bar, (Three currants in a bun) And oh she was proud, as ladies ar… (And the bun was baked a week ago.… For a weekly wage she was standing…

Where she sleeps, no moonlight shi… No pale beam unbidden creeps. Darkest shade the place enshrines Where she sleeps. Like a diamond in the deeps

When one is young and eager, A bejant and a boy, Though his moustache be meagre, That cannot mar his joy When at the Competition

Whene’er I try to read a book, Across the page your face will loo… And then I neither know nor care What sense the printed words may b… At night when I would go to sleep…

Of our own will we are not free, When freedom lies within our power… We wait for some decisive hour, To rise and take our liberty. Still we delay, content to be

This morning, while we sat in talk Of spring and apple-bloom, Lo! Death stood in the garden wal… And peered into the room. Your back was turned, you did not…

There was a time when it was count… To be a patriot—whether by the zea… Of peaceful labour for the country… Or by the courage in her cause to… FOR KING AND COUNTRY was a…

The life of earth, how full of pai… Which greets us on our day of birt… Nor leaves us while we yet retain The life of earth. There is a shadow on our mirth,

on returning to St. Andrews In the hard familiar horse-box I… Creeping back to old St. Andrews… Bearing bejants with their luggage… Which the porter, hot and tipless,…