#ScottishWriters
THIS girl was sweeter than the s… And daintier than the lamb upon th… Or Curine oyster. She, the flower… Outshone the light of Erythraean… The teeth of India that with poli…
EARLY in the morning I hear on… You (at least, I guess it’s you)… Mostly little minds should take an… While the birds are singing in the…
Not yet, my soul, these friendly f… Where thou with grass, and rivers,… And the bright face of day, thy da… Where to thine ear first sang the… Where love and thou that lasting b…
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,…
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
LOOK round: You see a little sup… But from my window, lo! great Cae… And the great dead themselves, wit… Bid you be merry and remember deat…
HOME from the daisied meadows, w… Home, golden—headed playmate, ere… For the dews are falling fast And the night has come at last. Home with you, home and lay your l…
Far `yont amang the years to be When a’ we think, an’ a’ we see, An’ a’ we luve, `s been dung ajee By time’s rouch shouther, An’ what was richt and wrang for m…
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…
Smooth it glides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
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,
Out of the sun, out of the blast, Out of the world, alone I passed Across the moor and through the wo… To where the monastery stood. There neither lute nor breathing f…
Here all is sunny, and when the tr… Skims the green level of the lawn,… Dispetals roses; here the house is… Of kneaded brick and the plumed mo… Such clay as artists fashion and s…
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,
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