#ScottishWriters
The gardener does not love to talk… He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the ke… Away behind the currant row
“Chief of our aunts”—not only I, But all your dozen of nurselings c… “What did the other children do? And what were childhood, wanting y…
As in the hostel by the bridge I… Nailed with indifference fondly de… And (O strange chance, more sorro… The counterfeit of her that was my… Dressed in like vesture, graceful…
MY love was warm; for that I cros… The mountains and the sea, Nor counted that endeavour lost That gave my love to me. If that indeed were love at all,
Smooth it glides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Whenever Auntie moves around, Her dresses make a curious sound, They trail behind her up the floor… And trundle after through the door…
The year runs through her phases;… Springtime and summer pass; winter… But one pale season rules the hous… Cold falls the imprisoned daylight… By each lean pallet squats, and pa…
CALL it to mind, O my love. Dear were your eyes as the day, Bright as the day and the sky; Like the stream of gold and the sk… Dear were your eyes in the grey.
THE air was full of sun and birds… The fresh air sparkled clearly. Remembrance wakened in my heart And I knew I loved her dearly. The fallows and the leafless trees
The coach is at the door at last; The eager children, mounting fast And kissing hands, in chorus sing: Good—bye, good—bye, to everything! To house and garden, field and law…
My house, I say. But hark to the… That make my roof the arena of the… That gyre about the gable all day… And fill the chimneys with their m… Our house, they say; and mine, the…
I woke before the morning, I was… I never said an ugly word, but smi… And now at last the sun is going d… And I am very happy, for I know t… My bed is waiting cool and fresh,…
Late lies the wintry sun a—bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy—head; Blinks but an hour or two; and the… A blood—red orange, sets again. Before the stars have left the ski…
Resign the rhapsody, the dream, To men of larger reach; Be ours the quest of a plain theme… The piety of speech. As monkish scribes from morning br…
For love of lovely words, and for… Of those, my kinsmen and my countr… Who early and late in the windy oc… To plant a star for seamen, where… The surfy haunt of seals and cormo…
