Violet Jacob Face Poems

  • 1.
    I canna' see ye, lad, I canna' see ye,
    For a' yon glory that's aboot yer heid,
    Yon licht that haps ye, an' the hosts that's wi' ye,
    Aye, but ye live, an' it's mysel' that's deid!
    ...
  • 2.
    Gin I should fa',
    Lord, by ony chance,
    And they howms o' France
    Haud me for guid an' a';
    ...
  • 3.
    Lay me in yon place, lad,
    The gloamin's thick wi' nicht;
    I canna' see yer face, lad,
    For my een's no richt,
    ...
  • 4.
    It was faur-ye-weel, my dear, that the gulls were cryin'
    At the kirk beside the sands,
    Whaur the saumon-nets lay oot on the bents for dryin',
    Wi' the tar upon their strands;
    ...
  • 5.
    The weary, weary days gang by,
    The weary nichts they fa',
    I mauna rest, I canna lie
    Since my ain bairn's awa'.
    ...
  • 6.
    There's a wind comes doon frae the braes when the licht is spreadin'
    Chilly an' grey,
    An' the auld cock craws at the yett o' the muirland steadin'
    Cryin' on day;
    ...
  • 7.
    When winter's pulse seems dead beneath the snow,
    And has no throb to give,
    Warm your cold heart at mine, beloved, and so
    Shall your heart live.
    ...
  • 8.
    There's some that mak' themsels a name
    Wi' preachin', business, or a game,
    There's some wi' drink hae gotten fame
    And some wi' siller:
    ...
  • 9.
    I see her as though she were standing yet
    In her tower at the end of the town,
    When the hot sun mounts and when dusk comes down,
    With her two hands laid on the parapet;
    ...
Total 9 Face Poems by Violet Jacob

Top 10 most used topics by Violet Jacob

Mind 14 Hear 12 Place 10 Face 9 White 9 Year 9 Rise 8 Voice 7 Stand 7 Flame 7

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Ron Scrimgeour: Such a talent and so often overlooked. From her poetry, to her children's books and the Indian diaries, Violet Jacob is a giant of Scottish literature. And when you consider Flemington - the Jacobite epic tale of Angus - Violet Jacob is in a class of her own. Skirlin' Wattie, the beggar piper, steals every paragraph he is featured in.

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 by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Nay, dear one, ask me not to leave thee yet.
Let me a little longer hold thy hand.
Too soon it is to bid me to forget
The joys I was so late to understand.
The future holds but a blank face for me,
The past is all confused with tears and grey,
But the sweet present, while thy smiles I see,
Is perfect sunlight, an unclouded day.
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