#ScottishWriters
The Silver Ship, my King - that… In the bright islands whence your… The Silver Ship, at rest from win… Below your palace in your harbour… And the seafarers, sitting safe on…
It’s an owercome sooth for age an’… And it brooks wi’ nae denial, That the dearest friends are the a… And the young are just on trial. There’s a rival bauld wi’ young an…
THIS gloomy northern day, Or this yet gloomier night, Has moved a something high In my cold heart; and I, That do not often pray,
It’s rainin’. Weet’s the gairden… Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels… A maist unceevil thing o’ God In mid July — If ye’ll just curse the sneckdraw,…
WHEN loud by landside streamlets… And clear in the greenwood quires… With sun on the meadows And songs in the shadows Comes again to me
Farewell, fair day and fading ligh… The clay-born here, with westward… Marks the huge sun now downward so… Farewell. We twain shall meet no… Farewell. I watch with bursting…
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,
Birds all the summer day Flutter and quarrel Here in the arbour—like Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork
AGAIN I hear you piping, for I… You rouse the heart to wander and… Tho’ where you learned your music,… For you pipe the open highway and… O piper, lightly footing, lightly…
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
My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor’s coat And starts me in the dark. At night I go on board and say
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…
The lamps now glitter down the str… Faintly sound the falling feet; And the blue even slowly falls About the garden trees and walls. Now in the falling of the gloom
In all the grove, nor stream nor b… Nor aught beside my blows was hear… And the woods wore their noonday d… The glory of their silentness. From the island summit to the seas…
IN the green and gallant Spring, Love and the lyre I thought to si… And kisses sweet to give and take By the flowery hawthorn brake. Now is russet Autumn here,
