 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
93
Alona.
Thou art the Daughter of the Sun,
Alona!
Even as the sun in a green place,
The light that is upon thy face!
When thou art gone there is dusk on my ways,
Alona!
Alona!
Even as the sun in a green place,
The light that is upon thy face!
When thou art gone there is dusk on my ways,
Alona!
Thy soul is of sun-fire wrought in clay,
Alona,
The white warm clay that hath for name,
Alona—and for word of fame,
Eilidh—and is for me a Flame
To burn against the Eternal Day,
Alona!
Alona,
The white warm clay that hath for name,
Alona—and for word of fame,
Eilidh—and is for me a Flame
To burn against the Eternal Day,
Alona!
The hills know thee, and the green woods,
Alona,
And the wide sea, and the blue loch, and the stream:
On thy brow, Daughter of the Sun, is agleam
The mystery of Dream,—
Alona!
Alona,
And the wide sea, and the blue loch, and the stream:
On thy brow, Daughter of the Sun, is agleam
The mystery of Dream,—
Alona!
The fires of the sun that burn thee,
Alona,
O, heart of my heart, are in me!
Thy fire burns, thy flame killeth, thy sea
Of light blazeth continually—
Is there no rest in joy, no rest, no rest for me
Whom rapture slayeth utterly,
Alona, Alona!
Alona,
O, heart of my heart, are in me!
Thy fire burns, thy flame killeth, thy sea
Of light blazeth continually—
Is there no rest in joy, no rest, no rest for me
Whom rapture slayeth utterly,
Alona, Alona!
| From the Hills of Dream | |