The high and lonely hills
Endure the darkening year --
And in my heart endure
A memory and a tear.

Across the tide a sail
That tosses, and is gone --
And in my heart the kiss
That longing dreams upon.

Grey rocks, and greyer sea,
And surf along the shore --
And in my heart the face
That I shall see no more.




"Grandmither, think not I forget". [Willa Sibert Cather]



Grandmither, think not I forget, when I come back to town,
An' wander the old ways again, an' tread them up and down.
I never smell the clover bloom, nor see the swallows pass,
Wi'out I mind how good ye were unto a little lass;
I never hear the winter rain a-pelting all night through
Wi'out I think and mind me of how cold it falls on you.
An' if I come not often to your bed beneath the thyme,
Mayhap 't is that I'd change wi' ye, and gie my bed for thine,