O, my luve is like a red, red rose.

Why has a religious turn of mind always a tendency to narrow and harden the heart?

Suspense is worst than disappointment.

Here's to us, who's like us Damn few, and they're all dead.

God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.

Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human.

Some wee short hour ayont the twal.