Helen Cruickshank Quotes

Laughter and gibes and scorn </br> they brave for her: </br> their pounds, their silver, and their pence </br> they give; </br> their time, their talent and their youth for her </br> that she may live.

The man that mates wi’ Poverty
An’ clasps her tae his banes,
Will faither lean an’ lively thochts,
A host o’ eident weans.

Bide the storm ye canna hinder,
Mindin’ through the strife,
Hoo the luntin’ lowe o’ beauty
Lichts the grey o’ life.

I am not asked out to drinking parties and have never been in a Rose Street pub. I can't be a poet.

While I am not teetotal, a drunk woman I find revolting and Burns orgies detestable.

I mind o' the Ponnage Pule </br> On a shinin' mornin', </br> The saumon fishers </br> Nettin' the bonny brutes — </br> I' the slithery dark o' the boddom </br> O' Charon's Coble </br> Ae day I'll faddom my doots.

Criticism in Scotland, of books as well as plays, is often bedevilled because we all know each other too well. The clique can cast its chill over its rivals; the claque delude with false praise.

Sae smoor yersel', my man, </br> Pit oot yer licht, </br> Grey hair that's tow </br> To a lassie's lowe </br> Is an unco sicht.

This man set the flame </br> of his native genius </br> under the cumbering whin </br> of the untilled field; </br> Lit a fire in the Mearns </br> to illumine Scotland, </br> clearing the sullen soil </br> for a richer yield.

Under an arch o’ bramble
Saftly she goes,
Dark broon een like velvet,
Cheeks like the rose.

Up the Noran Water </br> In by Inglismaddy, </br> Annie's got a bairnie </br> That hasna got a daddy. </br> Some say it's Tammas's </br> An' some say it's Chay's; </br> An' naebody expec'it it, </br> Wi' Annie's quiet ways.

But where this passionate self will go, </br> God knows, </br> Who knows whence the lightning comes, and </br> whither it goes.

They agonise in sordid </br> tenements, </br> with children stabled worse than sheep </br> or kye. </br> O, how can grace or peace or health abide </br> such poverty?

I mind o' the Ponnage Pool,
The reid brae risin',
Morphie Lade,
An' the saumon that louped the dam,
A tree i' Martin's Den
Wi' names carved on it;
But I ken na wha I am.