From the bonny bells of heather
They brewed a drink long-syne,
Was sweeter far than honey,
Was stronger far than wine
(R.L. Stevenson. Heather Ale)
Oh, dear son of high worn cliff
And blindly lilac dawn,
The air you’re breathing in is clean
In mountains you live on!
You’re pushing in between the rocks
On age-old gentle flanks,
And grey-haired billow Neptune rolls
Are flowing in your hands.
And every perfect royal coast
At Hazy Albion
Is glad to tell us at no cost
That cruel winter’s gone.
Your unpretentious modest charm
Has captured, to confess.
You are a secret, making calm
And giving more than strength…
And yet you have concealed the main –
The heart of Scottish lands
And let us brew that heather ale
To drink the Crown friends.
April 11th, 2011
Heather
© Copyright: Галина Псковская, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124061306546
Свидетельство о публикации №124061306546
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