#ScottishWriters
A lover of the moorland bare, And honest country winds, you were… The silver-skimming rain you took; And loved the floodings of the bro… Dew, frost and mountains, fire and…
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…
CALL me not rebel, though { here… {in what I sing If I no longer hail thee { King a… { Lord and King I have redeemed myself with all I…
My body which my dungeon is, And yet my parks and palaces: — Which is so great that there I go All the day long to and fro, And when the night begins to fall
The world is so full of a number o… I’m sure we should all be as happy…
Whenever Auntie moves around, Her dresses make a curious sound, They trail behind her up the floor… And trundle after through the door…
FOR these are sacred fishes all Who know that lord that is the lor… Come to the brim and nose the frie… That sways and can beshadow all th… Nor only so, but have their names,…
On the great streams the ships may… About men’s business to and fro. But I, the egg-shell pinnace, sle… On crystal waters ankle-deep: I, whose diminutive design,
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 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…
TO what shall I compare her, That is as fair as she? For she is fairer —fairer Than the sea. What shall be likened to her,
THE wind blew shrill and smart, And the wind awoke my heart Again to go a—sailing o’er the sea… To hear the cordage moan And the straining timbers groan,
FLOWER god, god of the spring,… Cold—dyed shield in the sky, lover… Here I wander in April Cold, grey—headed; and still to my Heart, Spring comes with a bound,…
Bright is the ring of words When the right man rings them, Fair the fall of songs When the singer sings them. Still they are carolled and said —
Blows the wind to-day, and the sun… Blows the wind on the moors to-day… Where about the graves of the mart… My heart remembers how! Grey recumbent tombs of the dead i…
