Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/291

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CVI

The Bonny, Bonny Braes

I

LONELY I linger'd when you went,
Recalling how the days had fled
Each with its mingled treasure pent
Of shine and shade rememberèd . . .
Oh, how I crush'd the grapes divine,
Blending a flood of wakeful wine.


Next look'd I on the well-lov'd scene,
Eager its ready wealth to glean:
And forg'd therefrom a cup of gold—
Red hills, blue loch, and islands green—
(Rare alchemy!). So could it hold
That vintage of our joy, and I
Drink deep the draught of memory.


II

Love, be not sad but listen
To the laughter of the wave,
Sweeping ever madly after

His desire above yon cave:

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