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ALONG the yellow sands,
Across the faery isles,
The rain in silver strands
Is blown for miles and miles.
Like straws before the gale
The shining threads are tossed --
And softly, sadly wail
The voices of the lost
Lovers of hills again
Through all the broken land…
But Memory calls in vain –-
The hills in silence stand.
Yet, though the mountains sleep,
The hollow melody
Is answered by the deep
Booming of the sea.
A Mull Sunset, Firth of Lorne in foreground |
