Golden dream of summer morn, By a well-remembered stream In the land where I was born, Golden dream! Ripples, by the glancing beam

Last night for the first time, O… I held your hand a moment in my ow… The dearest moment which my soul h… Since I beheld and loved you at f… I left you, and I wandered in the…

Oh, who may this dead warrior be That to his grave they bring? ’Tis William, Duke of Normandy, The conqueror and king. Across the sea, with fire and swor…

If a pleasant lawn there grow By the showers caressed, Where in all the seasons blow Flowers gaily dressed, Where by handfuls one may win

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

Ever to be the best. To lead In whatsoever things are true; Not stand among the halting crew The faint of heart, the feeble-kne… Who tarry for a certain sign

The voice that sings across the ni… Of long forgotten days and things, Is there an ear to hear aright The voice that sings? It is as when a curfew rings

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…

Lost at sea, with all on board! No one saw their sinking sail, No one heard their dying wail, Heard them calling on the Lord— Lost at sea, with all on board.

Another day let slip! Its hours h… Its golden hours, with prodigal ex… All run to waste. A day of life t… Of many wasted days, alas, but one… Through my west window streams the…

Hurrah for the Science Club! Join it, ye fourth year men; Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub… Whose years scarce number ten Join it, divines most grave;

In youth with diligence he toiled A Roman nose to gain, But though a decent pug was spoile… A pug it did remain.

I know the garden-close of sin, The cloying fruits, the noxious fl… I long have roamed the walks and b… Desiring what no man shall win: A secret place to shelter in,

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,…

Alas for the bird who was born to… They have made him a cage; they ha… They have shut him up in a dingy s… And they praise his singing and ca… But his heart and his song are sad…