#ScottishWriters
The human conscience has fled of l… domain of conduct for what I shoul… less congenial field of art: there… rage, and with special severity in… so that in every novel the letters…
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
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…
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…
The moon has a face like the clock… She shines on thieves on the garde… On streets and fields and harbour… And birdies asleep in the forks of… The squalling cat and the squeakin…
The bed was made, the room was fit… By punctual eve the stars were lit… The air was still, the water ran, No need was there for maid or man, When we put up, my ass and I,
Before this little gift was come The little owner had made haste fo… And from the door of where the ete… Looked back on human things and sm… O may this grief remain the only o…
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…
Peace and her huge invasion to the… Puts daily home; innumerable sails Dawn on the far horizon and draw n… Innumerable loves, uncounted hopes To our wild coasts, not darkling n…
Late in the nicht in bed I lay, The winds were at their weary play… An’ tirlin’ wa’s an’ skirlin’ wae Through Heev’n they battered; - On-ding o’ hail, on-blaff o’ spray…
The tropics vanish, and meseems th… From Halkerside, from topmost All… Or steep Caerketton, dreaming gaz… Far set in fields and woods, the t… Spring gallant from the shallows o…
YOU have been far, and I Been farther yet, Since last, in foul or fair An impecunious pair, Below this northern sky
OUR Johnie’s deid. The mair’s th… He’s deid, an’ deid o’ Aqua—vitae… O Embro’, you’re a shrunken city, Noo Johnie’s deid! Tak hands, an’ sing a burial ditty
Youth now flees on feathered foot Faint and fainter sounds the flute… Rarer songs of gods; and still Somewhere on the sunny hill, Or along the winding stream,
Little Indian, Sioux, or Crow, Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, Oh! don’t you wish that you were m… You have seen the scarlet trees
