#Scots
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
THE wind is without there and how… And the rain—flurries drum on the… Alone by the fireside with elbows… I can number the hours as they pas… Yet now, when to cheer me the cric…
O CHIEF director of the growing… Of Rome the glory and of Rome the… Me, O Quintilian, may you not for… Before from labour I make haste t… Some burn to gather wealth, lay ha…
We see you as we see a face That trembles in a forest place Upon the mirror of a pool Forever quiet, clear and cool; And in the wayward glass, appears
The gauger walked with willing foo… And aye the gauger played the flut… And what should Master Gauger pla… But Over the hills and far away? Whene’er I buckle on my pack
UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…
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…
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…
“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…
From the bonny bells of heather They brewed a drink long—syne, Was sweeter far than honey, Was stronger far than wine. They brewed it and they drank it,
Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story—books. Water now is turned to stone
I have a little shadow that goes i… And what can be the use of him is… He is very, very like me from the… And I see him jump before me, whe… The funniest thing about him is th…
At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing… And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl
Sing me a song of a lad that is go… Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
Over the borders, a sin without pa… Breaking the branches and crawling… Out through the breach in the wall… Down by the banks of the river we… Here is a mill with the humming of…
