THE BLIND GIRL In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes. In the darkness who would answer, in the darkness who would care, If the odor of the roses and the wingèd things were there. In the darkness who would cavil o'er the question of a line, Since the darkness holds all loveliness, beyond the mere design. Oh night, thy soothing prophecies companion all our ways, Until releasing hands let fall the catalogue of days. In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes. In the darkness who would answer, in the darkness who would care, If the odor of the roses and the better things were there. - Nathalia Crane THE ODD ONES I like best those crotchety ones That follow their own way In whimsical oblivion Of what the neighbors say. They grow more rare as they grow old In little slants and twisted lines; Like trees in lonely places. Ruth Suckow I'm a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone; I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep. I'll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet, A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat, Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate, But shut door, and sharp stone, and cuff and kick, and hate. Not for me the other dogs, running by my side, Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide. - Irene Rutherford McLeod FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT Is there for honest poverty That hangs his head, and a' that? Our toils obscure, and a' that; What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Ye see yon birkie, ca'd “a lord," For a' that, and a' that, His ribband, star, and a' that, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Then let us pray that come it may (As come it will for a' that) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, For a' that, and a' that, It's comin yet, for a' that, That man to man, the world o'er, Shall brithers be for a' that. - Robert Burns MCPHERSON'S FAREWELL Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, CHORUS Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he; He play'd a spring, and danced it round, O what is death but parting breath? I've dar'd his face; and in this place Untie these bands from off my hands, And there's no a man in all Scotland, I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife; It burns my heart I must depart, And not avengèd be. Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky! May coward shame distain his name, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785 Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic 's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, |