O Lord, I cannot but believe The birds do sing thy praises then, when they sing to one another, And they are lying seed-sown land when the winter makes them grieve,...
My little child receives my gift, A simple piece of bread; But to her mouth she doth not lift The love in bread conveyed, Till on my lips, unerring, swift, The morsel first is laid. ...
My Lily snatches not my gift; Glad is she to be fed, But to her mouth she will not lift The piece of broken bread, Till on my lips, unerring, swift, The morsel she has laid. ...
Within my heart a worm had long been hid. I knew it not when I went down and chid Because some servants of my inner house Had not, I found, of late been doing well, But then I spied the horror hideous...
What shall I be?--I will be a knight Walled up in armour black, With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might. And a spear that will not crack-- So black, so blank, no glimmer of light...
I envy the tree-tops that shake so high In winds that fill them full of heavenly airs; I envy every little cloud that shares With unseen angels evening in the sky; I envy most the youngest stars that lie...
Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease, The rich men gaed up the temple ha'; Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees, The widow cam efter, booit an' sma'.
Forth to his study the sculptor goes In a mood of lofty mirth: "Now shall the tongues of my carping foes Confess what my art is worth! In my brain last night the vision arose,...
There cam a man to oor toon-en', And a waesome carl was he, Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd, And gleyt o' a blinterin ee. Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak, But the owercome o' his sang,...
When things are holding wonted pace In wonted paths, without a trace Or hint of neighbouring wonder, Sometimes, from other realms, a tone, A scent, a vision, swift, alone, Breaks common life asunder....
From out a windy cleft there comes a gaze Of eyes unearthly, which go to and fro Upon the people's tumult, for below The nations smite each other: no amaze Troubles their liquid rolling, or affrays...
Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out! You stare In the air As if crying Beware, Always looking what I am about: I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!" ...
They are blind, and they are dead: We will wake them as we go; There are words have not been said, There are sounds they do not know: We will pipe and we will sing-- With the Music and the Spring...