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OLD AGE AND DEATH

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er;
So calm are we when passions are no more.
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.

The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made:
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,

As they draw near to their eternal home.

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,

That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Edmund Waller

LIGHT

The night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one;

Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;

Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Francis William Bourdillon

VSHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT

She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food,
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel-light.

William Wordsworth

JOHN ANDERSON

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

Robert Burns

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine

In one another's being mingle —
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother:

And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea-
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

THE LAND O' THE LEAL

I'm wearing awa', Jean,

Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean,
I'm wearing awa’

To the land o' the leal.

There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,
She was baith guid and fair, Jean;
Oh we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal!

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and aye be fain

In the land o' the leal.

Lady Carolina Nairn

COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE

Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,

Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?

Every lassie has her laddie,
Ne'er a ane hae I;

Yet a' the lads they smile at me
When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain
I dearly lo'e myseľ';

But whaur his hame, or what his name,
I dinna care to tell.

Gin a body meet a body

Comin' frae the town,
Gin a body greet a body,

Need a body frown?

Every lassie has her laddie,

Ne'er a ane hae I;

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Yet a' the lads they smile at me
When comin' through the rye.

Amang the train there is a swain
I dearly lo'e mysel';

But whaur his hame, or what his name,

I dinna care to tell.

Anonymous

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