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Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson

"The Morning Drum-Call on my Eager..."

The morning drum-call on my eager ear
Thrills unforgotten yet; the morning dew
Lies yet undried along my field of noon.
 
But now I pause at whiles in what I do,
And count the bell, and tremble lest I hear
(My work untrimmed) the sunset gun too soon.

From Songs of Travel

#ScottishWriters

Otras obras de Robert Louis Stevenson...
In Memoriam E. H.

I knew a silver head was bright be… I knew a queen of toil with a crow… Garland of valour and sorrow, of b… Life, that honours the brave, crow… The beauties of youth are frail, b…
To Kalakaua

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…
Sonnet VII

The strong man’s hand, the snow—co… The certain—footed sympathies of y… These, and that lofty passion afte… Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sa… Or the great men of former years,…
Stout Marches Lead to Certain Ends

STOUT marches lead to certain en… We seek no Holy Grail, my friends… That dawn should find us every day Some fraction farther on our way. The dumb lands sleep from east to…
Prayer

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…
"Home No More Home to Me,..."

Home no more home to me, whither m… Hunger my driver, I go where I mu… Cold blows the winter wind over hi… Thick drives the rain, and my roof… Loved of wise men was the shade of…
The Relic Taken, What Avails the Shrine?

The relic taken, what avails the s… The locket, pictureless? O heart… Art thou not worse than that, Still warm, a vacant nest where lo… Her image nestled closer at my hea…
 1
Sonnet II

So shall this book wax like unto a… Fairy with mirrored flowers about… Or like some tarn that wailing cur… Glassing the sallow uplands or bro… And so, as men go down into a dell
Picture-Books in Winter

Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story—books. Water now is turned to stone
At the Sea-Side

When I was down beside the sea A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My holes were empty like a cup. In every hole the sea came up
Come, my Beloved, Hear From Me

COME, my beloved, hear from me Tales of the woods or open sea. Let our aspiring fancy rise A wren’s flight higher toward the… Or far from cities, brown and bare…
The Land of Story-Books

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
Fairy Bread

Come up here, O dusty feet! Here is fairy ready to eat. Here in my retiring room, Children, you may dine On the golden smell of broom
 1
To Mesdames Zassetsky and Garschine

THE wind may blaw the lee—gang wa… And aye the lift be mirk an’ gray, An deep the moss and steigh the br… Where a’ maun gang — There’s still an hoor in ilka day
Matter Triumphans

Son of my woman’s body, you go, to… To taste the colour of love and th… From out of the dainty the rude, t… Eternally through the ages from th… The ten fingers and toes, and the…



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