 | Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) |  |
275
THE EXILE
It is not when the seamew cries above the grey-green foam
Or circling o'er the bracken-fields the fluttering lapwings fly,
Or when above the broom and gale the lark is in his windy home
That thus I long, and with old longing sigh.
Or circling o'er the bracken-fields the fluttering lapwings fly,
Or when above the broom and gale the lark is in his windy home
That thus I long, and with old longing sigh.
For I am far away now, and now have time for sighing,
For sighing and for longing, where the grey houses stand.
In dreams I am a seamew flying, flying, flying
To where my heart is, in my own lost land.
For sighing and for longing, where the grey houses stand.
In dreams I am a seamew flying, flying, flying
To where my heart is, in my own lost land.
It is when in the crowded streets the rustling of white willows
And tumbling of a brown hill-water obscure the noisy ways;
Then is the ache a bitter pain; and to hear grey-green billows,
Or the hill-wind in a broom-sweet place.
And tumbling of a brown hill-water obscure the noisy ways;
Then is the ache a bitter pain; and to hear grey-green billows,
Or the hill-wind in a broom-sweet place.
| Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) | |