Explore "Robert Burns Wilson" by James Whitcomb Riley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
What intuition named thee? -- Through what thrill / Of the awed soul came the command divine / Into the mother-heart, foretelling thine / Should palpitate with his whose raptures will / Sing on while daisies bloom and lavrocks trill / Their undulating ways up through the fine / Fair mists of heavenly reaches? Thy pure line / Falls as the dew of anthems, quiring still / The sweeter since the Scottish singer raised / His voice therein, and, quit of every stress / Of earthly ache and longing and despair, / Knew certainly each simple thing he praised / Was no less worthy, for its lowliness, / Than any joy of all the glory There.