- Published on Friday, 01 March 2013 18:05
- Written by Maggi Kaye
- Hits: 3517
This hill was my youth……………..
From here I would watch the wide hill-rimmed
Range of my darling world, set sturdy and deep
In a pattern of worlds not realised: here only the sweep
Of showers down sunlit valleys dimmed
The morning lustre, or shadowed the shining flowers.
Here lambs bloomed white
On green hill-sides, and all the old
Magic of quiet, the sleep
Of sun-soaked spinning hours,
Blessed the long day; Blessed with warm gold
The long bright day of dreams, before the encroaching night
Let in the dark………let in the dark and cold.
I am the hill’s……………….
Oh! Many centuries deep the tie,
Rooted in hard-wrung peace, in difficult tears, love inarticulate:
Rooted too deep to die
Though a way of life has passed, though aliens lie
Where once I lay, watching the hills and the far, dispassionate
Wide arch the sky.
Seek not to fly from grief……………….
From the hard discipline of love and passion and pain
Beauty will come. Love is not less
Though dreams be forever unspoken,
But gathers in depth and vision and tenderness.
And after relinquishment, and loss, and dreams – or hearts – that are broken,
Beauty, the ever-living, the ever-changing, will come again.