XVI WAITING
Reading edition
BASED ON THE GAELIC FEAR A’ BHÀTA
The year may change its time, But still I climb The cliff above the sea, And look with eyes half dim with rain, To know if God has brought again My lover back to me.
When darkness downward glides And slowly hides The fading hills of blue, I never bar the cottage door Without one look across the moor, A look of hope for you.
Sometimes when I am free I seek the quay Soon after break of day, And find a newly harboured boat, And ask if you are still afloat Near home or far away.
I ask if you are well, And they can tell My heart is set on you: And then they call me just a fool, A baby in the world’s hard school To give you love so true.
You promised me silk gowns From Lowland towns, And rings of twisted gold; And, best of all, your picture bound With stones to hem its beauty round That I might kiss and hold.
My love is not the flower Of one short hour; You were my childhood’s pride; Your image is my dream by night, By day if ever put to flight It comes back like the tide.
The swan upon the lake When robbers take Her young, is left to moan; None tends her wounds or heeds her cry, She wails her loss and waits to die: Like her I cry alone.