The Cynic

I saw two lovers in the street to-night

       Close-leaning, radiant in the rosy mist

       Of dreaming; eyes that shone and lips that kissed –

All the poor ecstasy and cheap delight

Of love avowed and dying: and between,

    Gaudy and thin, illusions each did build

    To hide the other’s nakedness, and gild

The shoddiness with dreamlight’s glamoured sheen.

   

Ah, Love! speak not of loving yet awhile.

    As dawn is perfect for a moment’s space

       Nor all our striving or bewildered tears

Can grasp it or delay; so neither smile

    Nor kiss can cherish love’s awakening grace

       That fades and changes down the after years.

1936

In Spring

The sun has warsled clear o’ the wintry clood,

    An’ the larks are liltin’ abune the whunny broo,

But the wee sma’ gouden sang that a fain hert sung

    Is by wi’, noo.

   

The burn fa’s singin’ doun by the sca’d hillside,

    An’ the wild bees drone day-lang on the thymy brae,

But the foolish hert, ower torn wi’ luvin’, is dumb,

    Sangless an’ wae.

   

This wild rose, lyin’ sun’ered upon the gress

    In its waxen beauty, was nane mair frail nor sweet

Than the luve yon foolish hert laid doun afore

    Ane’s heedless feet.

1939

warsled: struggled; whunny broo:

furze-covered brow of the hill;

gouden: golden; by wi’: over; sca’d

scarred; wae: sad; gress: grass