What forest worn to the back-hauf’s this,
What Eden brocht doon to a bean-swaup?
The thistle’s to earth as the man
In the mune’s to the mune, puir chap.

The haill warld’s barkin’ and fleein’,
And this is its echo and aiker,
A soond that arrears in my lug
Herrin’-banein’ back to its maker,

A swaw like a flaw in a jewel
Or nadryv* jaloused in a man,
Or Creation unbiggit again
To the draucht wi’ which it began….

Abordage o’ this toom houk’s nae mowse.
It munks and’s ill to lay haud o’,
As gin a man ettled to ride
On the shouders o’ his ain shadow.

I canna biel’t; tho’ steekin’ an e’e
Tither’s munkie wi’ munebeam for knool in’t,
For there’s nae sta’-tree and the brute’s awa’
Wi’ me kinkin’ like foudrie ahint….

Sae Eternity’ll buff nor stye
For Time, and shies at a touch, man;
Yet aye in a belth o’ Thocht
Comes alist like the Fleein’ Dutchman….

As the worms’ll breed in my corpse until
It’s like a rice-puddin’, the thistle
Has made an eel-ark o’ the lift
Whaur elvers like skirl-in-the-pan sizzle,

Like a thunder-plump on the sunlicht,
Or the slounge o’ daith on my dreams,
Or as to a fair forfochen man
A breedin’ wife’s beddiness seems,

Saragossa Sea, St Vitus’ Dance,
A cafard in a brain’s despite,
Or lunacy that thinks a’ else
Is loony—and is dootless richt!…

Gin my thochts that circle like hobby-horses
’Udna loosen to nightmares I’d sleep;
For nocht but a chowed core’s left whaur Jerusalem lay
Like aipples in a heap!…

*Tragical crack (Dostoevski’s term).

from A Drunk Man Looks at Throbbing Thistle