OH for a breath o' the moorlands, A whiff o' the caller air! For the smell o' the flowerin' heather My very heart is sair. Oh for the sound o' the burnies That whimple to the sea; For the sight o' the browning bracken On the hillside waving free! Oh for the blue lochs cradled In the arms o' mountains gray, That smile as they shadow the drifting clouds A' the bonny summer day! Oh for the tops o' mountains White wi' eternal snaw; For the mists that drift across the lift; For the strong east winds that blaw! I am sick o' the blazing sunshine That burns through the weary hours, O' the gaudy birds singing never a song, O' beautiful scentless flowers. I wud gie a' the southern glory For a taste o' a good saut wind, Wi' a road ower the bonny sea before, And a track o' foam behind. Auld Scotland may be rugged, Her mountains stern and bare; But, oh for a breath o' her moorlands, A whiff o' her caller air! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOST SHEEP by ELIZABETH CECILIA CLEPHANE CHRISMUS ON THE PLANTATION by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SPOILS OF THE DEAD by ROBERT FROST THE CARD-DEALER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SONG, WRITTEN AT SEA, IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665 ... by CHARLES SACKVILLE (1637-1706) GOOD LUCK by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS DUSK; TO MADEMOISELLE MARIE LAURENCIN by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE |