IX
Does the first softening of the season break
The winter of Glenogle? Do the sighs
Of wooing spring bid curling brackens rise
On hillsides out of nothing for love’s sake?
How sweet it is to think that harebells shake
Over Green Lowther, where the shadow lies
Far in the Enterkin, beneath blue skies;
In trance to see the catkined willows quake,
Where April stirs along Loch Lomond side;
To watch the sands of Morar gently take
The Atlantic swell that softly combs the Isles;
And through the gorgeous portals of the Clyde
To hear at dawn the thudding paddle wake
The ever-brooding silence of the Kyles.
Rastatt, 29th April