#Scots
There was a girl that lost things– Nor only from her hand; She lost, indeed-why, most things, As if they had been sand! She said, 'But I must use them,
There is a river whose waters run asleep run run ever singing in the shallows dumb in the hollows
Ray of the Dawn of Truth, Aubrey… Forgive my play fantastic with thy… Distilling its true essence by the… Which Love 'neath Fancy’s limbeck… I know not what thy semblance, wha…
Forth to his study the sculptor go… In a mood of lofty mirth: ‘Now shall the tongues of my carpi… Confess what my art is worth! In my brain last night the vision…
The Deil’s forhooit his ain, his… The Deil’s forhooit his ain! His bairns are greitin in ilka neu… For the Deil’s forhooit his ain. The Deil he tuik his stick and hi…
Satan, avaunt! Nay, take thine hour, Thou canst not daunt, Thou hast no power; Be welcome to thy nest,
Ane by ane they gang awa; The getherer gethers grit and sma’… Ane by ane maks ane and a’! Aye whan ane sets doon the cup Ane ahint maun tak it up:
Thy world is made to fit thine own… A nursery for thy children small, The playground-footstool of thy th… Thy solemn school-room, Father of… When day is done, in twilight’s gl…
They all were looking for a king To slay their foes, and lift them… Thou cam’st a little baby thing That made a woman cry. O son of man, to right my lot
WHAT though my words glance side… Which I would utter in thine ear,… Truth in the inward parts thou dos… Wise hunger, not a fitness fine of… The little child that clamouring f…
Why dost thou want to sing When thou hast no song, my heart? If there be in thee a hidden sprin… Wherefore will no word start? On its way thou hearest no song,
In the hot sun, for water cool She walked in listless mood: When back she ran, her pitcher ful… Forgot behind her stood. Like one who followed straying she…
SO shall abundant entrance me be… Into the truth, my life’s inherita… Lo! as the sun shoots straight fro… God-floated, casting round a lordl… Into the corners of his endless ro…
Sighing above, Rustling below, Thorough the woods The winds go. Beneath, dead crowds;
Babe Jesus lay in Mary’s lap, The sun shone in his hair; And this was how she saw, mayhap, The crown already there. For she sang: ‘Sleep on, my littl…
