Sydney Thompson Dobell Poems

If Beauty is a name for visible Love,
And Love for Beauty in the conscious soul,
Which when commoving to its highest whole,
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FIRST came the primrose,
On the bank high,
Like a maiden looking forth
From the window of a tower
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Last night beneath the foreign stars I stood
And saw the thoughts of those at home go by
To the great grave upon the hill of blood.
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Turn, turn, for my cheeks they burn,
Turn by the dale, my Harry!
Fill pail, fill pail,
He has turned by the dale,
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Dear Friend, methinks when thus thy plenary soul
Speaks from yon pale default that lies so low,
The hale and stalwart by thy couch must know
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Under the green white blue of this and that and the other,
That and the other, and that and the other, for ever and ever,
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SHE turn’d the fair page with her fairer hand—
More fair and frail than it was wont to be—
O’er each remember’d thing he lov’d to see
She linger’d, and as with a fairy’s wand
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She droops like a dew-dropping lily,
'Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
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A'the toun is to the doun
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Ab's gane, Rab's gane,
Aggie's gane, Maggie's gane,
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On a solemn day
I clomb the shining bulwark of the skies:
Not by the beaten way,
But climbing by a prayer,
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