Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my...

Since o’er thy footstool here below
    Such radiant gems are strown,
Oh, what magnificence must glow,
    My God, about thy throne!
So brilliant here these drops of light,
There the full ocean rolls, how bright!

If night’s blue curtain of the...

Now summer finds her perfect prime;
  Sweet blows the wind from western calms;
On every bower red roses climb;
  The meadows sleep in mingled balms.
Nor stream, nor bank the wayside by,
  But lilies float and daisies throng;
Nor space of blue and...

Heaven is open every day;
      In night also
He that would wend his upward way
      May surely go.
There is no wall to that demesne
Where God resides; nor any screen
To hide the glories of that scene,—
      If man will know.

...

What! dost thou pray that the outgone tide be rolled back on the strand,
The flame be rekindled that mounted away from the smouldering brand,
The past-summer harvest flow golden through stubble-lands snaked and sere,
The winter-gray woods upgather and quicken the leaves...

  only to find Forever, blest
  By thine encircling arm;
  Only to lie beyond unrest
  In passion’s dreamy calm!

  Only to meet and never part,
  To sleep and never wake,—
  Heart unto heart and soul to soul,
  Dead for each other’s sake...

   [Written in September, 1789, on the anniversary of the day on which he heard of the death of his early love, Mary Campbell.]

THOU lingering star, with lessening ray,
  That lov’st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher’st in the day
  My Mary from my soul...

Poet: Robert Burns

I Never saw a moor,
  I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
  And what a wave must be.

I never spake with God,
  Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
  As if the chart were given.

High thoughts!
  They come and go,
    Like the soft breathings of a listening maiden,
  While round me flow
    The winds, from woods and fields with gladness laden:
When the corn’s rustle on the ear doth come—
When the eve’s beetle sounds its...

That clime is not like this dull clime of ours;
    All, all is brightness there;
A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers,
    And a benigner air.
No calm below is like that calm above,
No region here is like that realm of love;
Earth’s...

Poet: Anonymous