They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind, The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; Thy heart their well of life they find, Thine ear their open door.
Behind my father's cottage lies A gentle grassy height Up which I often ran--to gaze Back with a wondering sight, For then the chimneys I thought high Were down below me quite! ...
Through still, bare streets, and cold moonshine His homeward way he bent; The clocks gave out the midnight sign As lost in thought he went Along the rampart's ocean-line,...
Still flowed the music, flowed the wine. The youth in silence went; Through naked streets, in cold moonshine, His homeward way he bent, Where, on the city's seaward line, His lattice seaward leant....
"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" "I bide in ilka breath," Quo' Death; "No i' the pyramids, No whaur the wormie rids 'Neth coffin-lids; I bidena whaur life has been,...
Within each living man there doth reside, In some unrifled chamber of the heart, A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art I love thee, man, and bind thee to my side! By that sweet act I purify my pride...
Hark, the rain is on my roof! Every murmur, through the dark, Stings me with a dull reproof Like a half-extinguished spark. Me! ah me! how came I here, Wide awake and wide alone!...
There is not any weed but hath its shower, There is not any pool but hath its star; And black and muddy though the waters are We may not miss the glory of a flower,...