THE SINGER OF THE ISLES. You sing : and my soul is borne To the isles of the outer seas To the far, wind-scarred, wave-worn Wild Hebrides. You sing : and with flight upon flight Of white wings the air is alive; And, deep through the waters of light, The seal-folk dive. You sing : and the lilies unfold On the tarns : and the deep seas, aglow With sapphire and emerald and gold, Round green isles flow. You sing : and each island is fair As the islands of dream and desire, Washed clean in the magical air, With dawn afire. You sing : and there steals through the song The reek of the peat ; and the gloom Is alight with the faces that throng The twilit room. You sing: and the folk gather round The hearth where the heroes are sung: And soft in mine ear is the sound Of the island tongue.
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