Scottish Poetry Selection
- Sunday by the Loch
Sunday by the Loch
‘Tis not the silent hill,
Nor the deserted pier;
A something that evades me still,
Announces Sabbath here.No tinkling bell intrudes
Upon the morning calm;
The white cascade among the woods
Is all there is of psalm.Becalmed is every cloud,
And all the winds at rest;
In laurel-dusk the thrush emboughed
Is mute upon his nest.But something more, too deep
For my interpreting,
Proclaims as clear the Sabbath sleep
As willow buds the spring.
Where else would you like to go in Scotland?
