Alexander Anderson

(1845-1909 / Scotland)

Alexander Anderson Poems

1. My Readers 3/11/2010
2. The Engine-Aa 3/11/2010
3. Rid Of His Engine 3/11/2010
4. Jim's Whistle 3/11/2010
5. Move Upward 3/11/2010
6. On The Engine By Night 3/11/2010
7. A Song Of Progress 3/11/2010
8. In The Vanguard 3/11/2010
9. Bill's Length 3/11/2010
10. On The Engine 3/11/2010
11. 'Drew The Wrong Lever!' 3/3/2014
12. The Dead Child 3/3/2014
13. The Time Of The Rose Is Over 3/3/2014
14. If Any Song That I Have Sung 3/3/2014
15. The Singers 3/3/2014
16. Give Me A Song, Thou Poet 3/3/2014
17. A Song Of Labour 3/3/2014
18. A Ballade Of 'Churchwardens' 3/3/2014
19. Erratic Musings 3/3/2014
20. A Ballade Of Pipes 3/3/2014
21. A Blackbird's Nest 3/3/2014
22. A Dream Of Yarrow 3/3/2014
23. A Border Keep 3/3/2014
24. A Song For My Fellows 3/3/2014
25. A Retrospective Ode 3/3/2014
26. A Dreamer's Paradise 3/3/2014
27. A Song Of Progress 3/3/2014
28. A Love Retrospect 3/3/2014
29. A Voice Is In The Wind To-Day 3/3/2014
30. A Ballade Of Tobacco Smoke 3/3/2014
31. A Sound Is In My Ear To-Day 3/3/2014
32. A Day Dream On The Rail 3/3/2014
33. A Night Vision In The Colosseum At Rome 3/3/2014
34. A Castle Old And Grey 3/3/2014
35. A Perfect Day 3/3/2014
36. A Spirit Is Singing A Song 3/3/2014
37. A Hillside Graveyard 3/3/2014
38. A Chamber Hushed And Dim 3/3/2014
39. Jim Dalley 3/3/2014
40. Behind Me-Aa 3/11/2010
Best Poem of Alexander Anderson

A Legend Of St. Patrick

I heard this old legend a few days ago—
A legend so quaint
Of Ireland's saint,
That to lighten my time
I have put it in rhyme,
Just to see how it looks with the lines all a-row.

When St Patrick, that worthy dear man, came to see
How the reptiles polluted his darling 'conthree,'
He determined to stamp them, so set out with glee
To hunt them with curses until they should flee
To less favour'd nations over the sea,
Where they might rest their feet,
Safe in some snug retreat,
And have leisure to cool themselves down from their heat,
And make ...

Read the full of A Legend Of St. Patrick

A Song Of Lanour

Let us sing, my toiling Brothers, with our rough, rude voice a song
That shall live behind, nor do us in the after ages wrong,
But forever throb and whisper strength to nerve our fellow kind
As they rise to fill our footsteps and the space we leave behind.
What though hand and form be rugged? better then for Labour's mart—
I have never heard that Nature changed the colour of the heart—
For the God above hath made us one in flesh and blood with kings,
But the lower use is ours, and all the

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