Sagas of Vaster Britain: Poems of the Race, the Empire and the Divinity of Man

by William Wilfred Campbell




DOWN these golden uplands I
Move with sunny winds and sky,
Where the ghosts of waters are,
To the gates of dusk and star.

And I know that as I go,

She whose bosom is the snow
Of the birch and aspen tree,
Dreams these sunny dreams with me;

She whose glance and gleam of hair
Are the ruddy spinning rare

Of the gold glint of the sun
In the wood when day is done;

She whose inner speech is heard
In the hush of wind and bird,
And whose soul is as a star

Cradled where the hill-lakes are.