#ScottishWriters
In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over
My tea is nearly ready and the sun… It’s time to take the window to se… For every night at teatime and bef… With lantern and with ladder he co… Now Tom would be a driver and Mar…
The stormy evening closes now in v… Loud wails the wind and beats the… While here in sheltered house With fire-ypainted walls, I hear the wind abroad,
Yet, O stricken heart, remember,… How of human days he lived the bet… April came to bloom and never dim… Breathed its killing chills upon t… Doomed to know not winter, only S…
NOW Antoninus, in a smiling age, Counts of his life the fifteenth f… The rounded days and the safe year… Nor fears death’s water mounting r… To him remembering not one day is…
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
IT’S forth across the roaring foa… It’s many a lonely league from hom… From where the dogs of Scotland c… To where the flags are flying besi… Where all the deep—sea galleons ri…
All night long and every night, When my mama puts out the light, I see the people marching by, As plain as day before my eye. Armies and emperor and kings,
AS Love and Hope together Walk by me for a while, Link—armed the ways they travel For many a pleasant mile — Link—armed and dumb they travel,
Youth And Love To the heart of youth the world is… Passing for ever, he fares; and on… Deep in the gardens golden pavilio… Nestle in orchard bloom, and far o…
TO all that love the far and blue… Whether, from dawn to eve, on foot The fleeing corners ye pursue, Nor weary of the vain pursuit; Or whether down the singing stream…
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…
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,
WHETHER upon the garden seat You lounge with your uplifted feet Under the May’s whole Heaven of b… Or whether on the sofa you, No grown up person being by,
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,
