Edwin Muir Quotes

Long time he lay upon the sunny hill,
To his father's house below securely bound.

The curse of Scottish literature is the lack of a whole language, which finally means the lack of a whole mind.

They do not live in the world,
Are not in time and space.
From birth to death hurled
No word do they have, not one
To plant a foot upon,
Were never in any place.

There is a road that turning always
Cuts off the country of Again.
Archers stand there on every side
And as it runs time's deer is slain
And lies where it has lain.

I have observed in foolish awe
The dateless mid-days of the law
And seen indifferent justice done
By everyone on everyone.

The world's great day is growing late,
Yet strange these fields that we have planted
So long with crops of love and hate.