I AM the mountain burn. I go
Where only hill-folk know;
Pitter-patter, splash and spatter,
Goblin laughter, elfin chatter!
I am a chain of silver under the moon
A spell that breaks too soon;
Lost voices chuckling across the peat,
Or faery feet
Echoing where the dancing harebells blow.
The silent places know me.
Trees, Stately and cool,
Gaze at their green reflections where I flow
Into some shadowy pool.
I am a ribbon of light,
A flash of blinding-white
Foam where the pale sun lingers
Over the heathery waste.
And still my long green fingers
Probe with a surgeon's skill the perilous grey
Slopes of the ferny gorge, to carve away
Granite and stone and bleached bone
To suit my changeling taste.
I am brilliant as the stars, and timeless
Sad as the Earth, and strong
As mortal love. And through the long
Enchanted hours of sun and showers
I charm the hills with endless, rhymeless
Cadences of song.
And the dry reeds and rushes
Tremble and sigh,
Quiver and shake,
When the night-wind hushes
With lullaby
The dreams that die, the hearts that break --
And only I am left awake.
