#ScottishWriters
Out of the sun, out of the blast, Out of the world, alone I passed Across the moor and through the wo… To where the monastery stood. There neither lute nor breathing f…
GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we t… To enjoy our days set wholly free; To the true life together bend our… And take a furlough from the false… No rich saloon, nor palace of the…
WHAT is the face, the fairest fa… Till Care the graver —Care with c… Etches content thereon and makes i… Or constancy, and love, and makes…
In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle—light. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see
FAIR Isle at Sea —thy lovely na… Soft in my ear like music came. That sea I loved, and once or twi… I touched at isles of Paradise.
Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore… Sing truer or no longer sing! No more the voice of melancholy J… To wake a weeping echo in the hill… But as the boy, the pirate of the…
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…
When I was sick and lay a—bed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay, To keep me happy all the day. And sometimes for an hour or so
Since long ago, a child at home, I read and longed to rise and roam… Where’er I went, whate’er I wille… One promised land my fancy filled. Hence the long roads my home I ma…
YOU fear, Ligurra– above all, yo… That I should smite you with a st… This dreadful honour you both fear… Both all in vain: you fall below m… The Lybian lion tears the roaring…
We uncommiserate pass into the nig… From the loud banquet, and departi… A tremor in men’s memories, faint… And frail as music. Features of o… The tones of the voice, the touch…
In the beloved hour that ushers da… In the pure dew, under the breakin… One bird, ere yet the woodland qui… With brief reveille summons all th… Chirp, chirp, it goes; nor waits a…
THE angler rose, he took his rod, He kneeled and made his prayers to… The living God sat overhead: The angler tripped, the eels were…
I, WHOM Apollo sometime visited… Or feigned to visit, now, my day b… Do slumber wholly; nor shall know… The weariness of changes; nor perc… Immeasurable sands of centuries
I read, dear friend, in your dear… Your life’s tale told with perfect… The river of your life, I trace Up the sun-chequered, devious bed To the far-distant fountain-head.