As speaks the sea-shell from the window-sill Of cottage-home, far inland, to the soul Of the bronzed veteran, till he hears the roll Of ocean 'mid its islands chafing still; As speaks the love-gift to the lonely heart Of her, whose hopes are buried in the grave Of him, whom tears, prayer, passion could not save, And Fate but link'd, that Death might tear apart, So speaks the ancient melody of thee, Green "Bush aboon Traquair," that from the steep O'erhang'st the Tweeduntil, mayhap afar, In realms beyond the separating sea, The plaided Exile, 'neath the Evening Star, Thinking of Scotland, scarce forbears to weep! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLOISTER by ISAAC ROSENBERG ANOTHER SONG WITHOUT WORDS by PAUL VERLAINE THE ROSE-BUD; TO A YOUNG LADY by WILLIAM BROOME MY LITTLE GARDEN by GWENDOLEN ALLEN THE ZONE OF VENUS by ANTIPHANES |