Andrew Lang

(31 March 1844 - 20 July 1912 / Selkirk, Scotland)

Andrew Lang Poems

41. Jock O The Side 4/20/2010
42. The Bonny Hind 4/20/2010
43. Scythe Song 1/1/2004
44. Ballades Iv - Of Life 1/1/2004
45. The Twa Sisters 4/20/2010
46. The Burial Of Moliere 4/20/2010
47. Ballade Of The Southern Cross 4/20/2010
48. Son Davie! Son Davie! 4/20/2010
49. The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman 4/20/2010
50. The Queen's Marie 4/20/2010
51. Young Benjie 4/20/2010
52. Fair Annie 4/20/2010
53. Johnnie Armstrang 4/20/2010
54. On Calais Sands 1/1/2004
55. Ballades V - Of His Choice Of A Sepulchre 1/1/2004
56. Hobbie Noble 4/20/2010
57. The Bonnie House O' Airly 4/20/2010
58. Edom O' Gordon 4/20/2010
59. The Battle Of Killie-Crankie 4/20/2010
60. The Douglas Tragedy 4/20/2010
61. Ballade Of True Wisdom 4/20/2010
62. Before The Snow 4/20/2010
63. Dizain 4/20/2010
64. Ballade Of The Summer Term 4/20/2010
65. The Wife Of Usher's Well 4/20/2010
66. Double Ballade Of Primitive Man 4/20/2010
67. Dickie Macphalion 4/20/2010
68. Clerk Saunders 4/20/2010
69. Ballade Of The Voyage To Cythera 4/20/2010
70. Ballades Ii - Of The Book-Hunter 4/20/2010
71. Three Portraits Of Prince Charles 1/1/2004
72. Tam Lin 4/20/2010
73. St. Andrew's Bay 4/20/2010
74. Ideal 4/20/2010
75. Ballade Of The Tweed 4/20/2010
76. Bion 4/20/2010
77. The Elphin Nourrice 4/20/2010
78. Culloden 4/20/2010
79. A Portrait Of 1783 4/20/2010
80. Auld Maitland 4/20/2010
Best Poem of Andrew Lang

Ballade Of Worldly Wealth

Money taketh town and wall,
Fort and ramp without a blow;
Money moves the merchants all,
While the tides shall ebb and flow;
Money maketh Evil show
Like the Good, and Truth like lies:
These alone can ne'er bestow
Youth, and health, and Paradise.

Money maketh festival,
Wine she buys, and beds can strow;
Round the necks of captains tall,
Money wins them chains to throw,
Marches soldiers to and fro,
Gaineth ladies with sweet eyes:
These alone can ne'er bestow
Youth, and health, and Paradise.

Money wins the priest his stall;
Money mitres ...

Read the full of Ballade Of Worldly Wealth

Scythe Song

MOWERS, weary and brown, and blithe,
What is the word methinks ye know,
Endless over-word that the Scythe
Sings to the blades of the grass below?
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover,
Something, still, they say as they pass;
What is the word that, over and over,
Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass?

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