#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
I NOW, O friend, whom noiselessl… Settle around, and whose small cha… Dusk as the sloping window takes i… * * * * * The kindly hill, as to complete ou…
I will make you brooches and toys… Of bird—song at morning and star—s… I will make a palace fit for you a… Of green days in forests and blue… I will make my kitchen, and you sh…
Who comes to—night? We open the d… Who comes? My bursting walls, can… The presences that now together th… Your narrow entry, as with flowers… As with the air of life, the breat…
About my fields, in the broad sun And blaze of noon, there goeth one… Barefoot and robed in blue, to sca… With the hard eye of the husbandma… My harvests and my cattle. Her,
Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and the gorse about In summer bloom were coming out,
LIGHT as the linnet on my way I… For all my pack I bear a chartere… Forth on the world without a guide… Content to know, through all man’s… The eternal woman by the wayside w…
If two may read aright These rhymes of old delight And house and garden play, You too, my cousins, and you only,… You in a garden green
Then the bright lamp is carried in… The sunless hours again begin; O’er all without, in field and lan… The haunted night returns again. Now we behold the embers flee
Smooth it glides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
WHEN Thomas set this tablet here… Time laughed at the vain chanticle… And ere the moss had dimmed the st… Time had defaced that garrison. Now I in turn keep watch and ward
I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow;— Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goat…
The embers of the day are red Beyond the murky hill. The kitchen smokes: the bed In the darkling house is spread: The great sky darkens overhead,
God, if this were enough, That I see things bare to the buf… And up to the buttocks in mire; That I ask nor hope nor hire, Nut in the husk,
You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once mo… The little feet along the floor.
