The Eighth Sin/From Arthur's Seat
FROM ARTHUR'S SEAT.
"There are no stars like the Edinburgh street-lamps."—R. L. S.
From Arthur's Seat there lies displayedThe city in her dim brocade, And stitching it with useful starsThe unseen tailors ply their trade.
The blue of dusk deeps into nightThen flash the leaping seams of light, By magic needlework there runsThe gleaming pattern, golden bright.
Across and over, up and downThe sombre garments of the town Swift hands are hemming threads of gold,And sewing jewels on her gown.
Master, your town of long agoStill wears those yellow stars. And lo The brightest-shining of them allIs by the house in Heriot Row!