Violet Jacobs, from Hallowe'en:

     But gin the auld fowks' tales are richt
    An ghaists come hame on Hallow nicht,
    O freend o' freends! what wad I gie
    To feel ye rax yer hand to me
    Atween the dark an' caun'le licht?

    Awa in France, across the wave,
    The wee lichts burn on ilka grave,
    An' you an' me their lowe hae seen--
    Ye'11 mebbe hae yer Hallowe'en
    Yont, whaur ye're lyin' wi' the lave.