Treasure Island

Robert Fergusson

(1750 - 1774 / Scotland)

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The Daft-days

Now mirk December's dowie face
Glours our the rigs wi' sour grimace,
While, thro' his minimum of space,
The bleer-ey'd sun
Wi' blinkin light and stealing pace,
His race doth run.

From naked groves nae birdie sings,
To shepherd's pipe nae hillock rings,

[Hata Bildir]