#Scots #XIXCentury
A picture-frame for you to fill, A paltry setting for your face, A thing that has no worth until You lend it something of your grac… I send (unhappy I that sing
Long must elapse ere you behold ag… Green forest frame the entry of th… The wild lane with the bramble and… The year-old cart-tracks perfect i… The wayside smoke, perchance, the…
AGAIN I hear you piping, for I… You rouse the heart to wander and… Tho’ where you learned your music,… For you pipe the open highway and… O piper, lightly footing, lightly…
HERE in the quiet eve My thankful eyes receive The quiet light. I see the trees stand fair Against the faded air,
The rain is falling all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea.
FOR some abiding central source o… Strong—smitten steady chords, ye s… And, flowing, carry virtue. Far b… The vain tumultuous passions of th… Fleet fast and disappear; and as t…
DEAR sir, good—morrow! Five year… When you first girded for this ard… And under various whimsical pretex… Endowed another with your damned d… Could you have dreamed in your des…
There are men and classes of men t… common herd: the soldier, the sail… unfrequently; the artist rarely; r… the physician almost as a rule. H… is) of our civilisation; and when…
HERE lies Erotion, whom at six y… Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I t… Who shall succeed me in my rural f… To this small spirit annual honour… Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy…
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
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,
Dear Andrew, with the brindled ha… Who glory to have thrown in air, High over arm, the trembling reed, By Ale and Kail, by Till and Twe… An equal craft of hand you show
In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over
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,
I AM like one that for long days… With seaward eyes set keen against… On some lone foreland, watching sa… The portbound ships for one ship t… And sail by sail, his heart burned…