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Longing (1938)
Purple hills in the distance looming, Grey clouds blown
Across grey sky;
The wind’s sad moan,
For all this my heart is longing, longing.
Wind-tossed pines sighing, Wet heather tracks,
A lone sheep’s cry;
Mist... Peat stacks,
For all this my heart is longing, longing.
Silent lochs, dark-shining, Great frowning crags,
Burns tumbling from on high; Timid, rare stags,
For all this my heart is longing, ever longing.
