#ScottishWriters
LO, now, my guest, if aught amiss… Forgive it and dismiss it from you… For me, for you, for all, to close… Pass now the ev’ning sponge across… And to that spirit of forgiveness…
Come up here, O dusty feet! Here is fairy ready to eat. Here in my retiring room, Children, you may dine On the golden smell of broom
Child — O mother, lay your hand on my brow… O mother, mother, where am I now? Why is the room so gaunt and great… Why am I lying awake so late?
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…
DEATH, to the dead for evermore A King, a God, the last, the best… Whene’er this mortal journey ends Death, like a host, comes smiling… Smiling, he greets us, on that tra…
TO her, for I must still regard h… As feminine in her degree, Who has been my unkind bombarder Year after year, in grief and glee… Year after year, with oaken tree;
Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Ch… Yo—ho—ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil had done for t… Yo—ho—ho, and a bottle of rum!
THE wind blew shrill and smart, And the wind awoke my heart Again to go a—sailing o’er the sea… To hear the cordage moan And the straining timbers groan,
YOU looked so tempting in the pew… You looked so sly and calm — My trembling fingers played with y… As both looked out the Psalm. Your heart beat hard against my ar…
I DREAMED of forest alleys fai… And fields of gray—flowered grass, Where by the yellow summer moon My Jenny seemed to pass. I dreamed the yellow summer moon,
To you, let snow and roses And golden locks belong. These are the world’s enslavers, Let these delight the throng. For her of duskier lustre
I ASK good things that I detest, With speeches fair; Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my… But hear my prayer. I say ill things I would not say…
ON now, although the year be done… Now, although the love be dead, Dead and gone; Hear me, O loved and cherished on… Give me still the hand that led,
Apologetic Postscript Of A Year… IF you see this song, my dear, And last year’s toast, I’m confoundedly in fear You’ll be serious and severe
THOUGH deep indifference should… The sluggish life beneath my brows… And all the external things I see Grow snow—showers in the street to… Yet inmost in my stormy sense