Preface To The Auld Doctor and other Poems and Songs in Scots
Not mine to let the hair grow long, and talk In raptured accents of the Higher Things, Of all the purple Polyanthus bears, And beating wings. (Oh no! Nothing of that sort!) Ne'er have I languished on the lower slopes Of sweet Parnassus in the thrice-dead years, Chanting in fathoms of the fathomless To kindred ears. (Certainly not! No time for it!) Nor mine the gift-O, gilded gift and grand! To linger near the murmur of the Nine, To mouth in music of the meaningless, Nay! Never mine! (That's so! Quite!) But here to han'le the auld crambo-clink On hame-owre themes weel-kent by Galen's tribe, Regairdless o' what ither fowk may think Or ca' the scribe! (Ay! That's aboot it noo!)
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"Not mine to let the hair grow long, and talk..."
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