A Poet's Harvest Home Being One Hundred Short Poems: By William Bell Scott ... With an Aftermath of Twenty Short Poems |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. | IX.
BURNS.
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| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
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 | A Poet's Harvest Home |  |
125
IX. BURNS.
HIS COTTAGE AND MONUMENT.
This is the cottage as it was of old,
The window four small panes, and in the wall
The box-bed where the first daylight did fall
Upon their new-born infant: narrow fold
And poor, when times were hard and winds were cold
As they were still to him. And now close by
Above Corinthian columns mounted high,
The famed Choragic Tripod shines in gold!
The window four small panes, and in the wall
The box-bed where the first daylight did fall
Upon their new-born infant: narrow fold
And poor, when times were hard and winds were cold
As they were still to him. And now close by
Above Corinthian columns mounted high,
The famed Choragic Tripod shines in gold!
The lumbering carriages of these dull years
Have pass'd away, their dust has ceased to whir
Round the pedestrian, silent to our ears
Is that maelstrom of Scottish men, this son
Of that poor cot we count the kingliest one;
Such is time's justice, time the harvester.
Have pass'd away, their dust has ceased to whir
Round the pedestrian, silent to our ears
Is that maelstrom of Scottish men, this son
Of that poor cot we count the kingliest one;
Such is time's justice, time the harvester.
| A Poet's Harvest Home | |