William Soutar Poems

Ayont the Caller Fountain
Whan gowks were in the schaw,
We gether'd the wild roses
That were sae white and sma';
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End is in beginning;
And in beginning end:
Death is not loss, nor life winning;
But each and to each is friend.
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They delv'd a saft hole
For Johnnie McNeel:
He aye had been droll
But folk likit him weel.
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A skelp frae his teacher
For a’ he cudna spell:
A skelp frae his mither
For cowpin owre the kale.
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O luely, luely, cam she in
And luely she lay doun:
I kent her be her caller lips
And jer breists sae sma' and roun'.
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Nae man wha loves the lawland tongue
but warstles wi' the thoucht-
there are mair sangs that bide unsung
nor a' that hae been wroucht.
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He who weeps for beauty gone
Hangs about his neck a stone.

He who mourns for his lost youth
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Whan I haik't up to Craigie Hill
And lookit east and west;
'In a' the world,' said I to mysel',
'My ain shire is the best.'
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Spindle-shank gangs owre the flair
Wi’ his ae leg in the air:
Shaks his pow outside the door
Whan his hair is fou o’ stour.
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Cuddle-doun my bairnie
The dargie day is dune:
Yon’s a siller sternie
Ablow the siller mune.
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