#ScottishWriters
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
When children are playing alone on… In comes the playmate that never w… When children are happy and lonely… The Friend of the Children comes… Nobody heard him, and nobody saw,
Bring the comb and play upon it! Marching, here we come! Willie cocks his highland bonnet, Johnnie beats the drum. Mary Jane commands the party,
From breakfast on through all the… At home among my friends I stay, But every night I go abroad Afar into the land of Nod. All by myself I have to go,
Peace and her huge invasion to the… Puts daily home; innumerable sails Dawn on the far horizon and draw n… Innumerable loves, uncounted hopes To our wild coasts, not darkling n…
Whenever the moon and stars are se… Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet… A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires a…
Once only by the garden gate Our lips we joined and parted. I must fulfil an empty fate And travel the uncharted. Hail and farewell! I must arise,
AS in their flight the birds of s… Halt here and there in sweet and s… But halt not overlong; The time one rural song to sing They pause; then following bounteo…
I have a hoard of treasure in my b… The grange of memory steams agains… Full of my bygone lifetime’s garne… Old pleasures crowned with sorrow… Old sorrow grown a joy, old penanc…
Clinkum—clank in the rain they rid… Down by the braes and the grey sea… Clinkum—clank by stane and cairn, Weary fa’ their horse—shoe—airn! Loud on the causey, saft on the sa…
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,
“Chief of our aunts”—not only I, But all your dozen of nurselings c… “What did the other children do? And what were childhood, wanting y…
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
The gardener does not love to talk… He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the ke… Away behind the currant row
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…