XII A HIGHLAND DAY WITHIN SIGHT OF CULLODEN
Reading edition
The snow-white borders of the grey-green sea Peep through the mist that veils the strait with dew, The sun grows bold and smites the landscape free, The burn, the woods, the rocks of rose-red hue.
The world lies warm upon the heart of day, The callants push their boat from off the shore, The white gulls sail and flutter through the bay, The jet-black daws are calling evermore.
The doves fly wheeling past their mountain wall, The whispering pine trees weave a ceiling cool, The rowans redden o’er the foaming fall, The ferns keep guard around the fairies’ pool.
The distant moorland where the tribesmen bled To win their wandering prince a royal home, Now wraps a deeper purple on their bed, While he sleeps cold below St. Peter’s dome.
The waves turn opal in the waning light, The rocks exchange for grey their rose-red bloom, The finite sinks into the infinite, And sea and sky are wedded in the gloom.