I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessing wi' the lave, Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, An' weary winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o' mice an' men An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear! Robert Burns THE BANKS O' DOON Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon And I sae fu' o' care? Thou 'lt break my heart, thou bonie bird That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause luve was true. Thou 'lt break my heart, thou bonie bird Aft hae I roved by bonie Doon Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, And my fause luver staw the rose, But left the thorn wi' me. - Robert Burns THE FIRST SNOW-FALL The snow had begun in the gloaming, Had been heaping field and highway Every pine and fir and hemlock From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, The stiff rails softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, I remembered the gradual patience And again to the child I whispered, Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; - James Russell Lowell UNWASTED DAYS FROM Under the Old Elm The longer on this earth we live And weigh the various qualities of men, . . . Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise, For life's ungarlanded expense In work done squarely and unwasted days. James Russell Lowell PINE TREES AND THE SKY: EVENING I'd watched the sorrow of the evening sky, And smelt the sea, and earth, and the warm clover, And heard the waves, and the seagull's mocking cry. And in them all was only the old cry, That song they always sing "The best is over! O silly lover!" And I was tired and sick that all was over, For all my thinking, never could recover One moment of the good hours that were over. Then from the sad west turning wearily, THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, There was once a road through the woods |