HEATHER by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

Vast barren hills and moors, cliffs over lakes,
Great headlands by the sea-a lonely land!
With Fishers' huts beside a yellow strand
Where wave on wave in foam and thunder breaks,

Or else a tranquil blue horizon takes
Sunlight and shadow. Few can understand
The poor folk's ancient tongue, sweet, simple, grand,
Wherein a dreamy old-world half awakes.

And on these hills a thousand years ago
Their fathers wander'd, sun and stars for clock,
With minds to wing above and creep below;
Heard what we hear, the ocean's solemn shock, -
Saw what we see, this Heather-flow'r aglow,
Empurpling league- long slope and crested rock.

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