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Unto The Hills
For all things Green

FOR all things green--
For rain-washed barley, and the dark
Langour of laurel, satin-smooth and cool;
For hairy poppy-stems and feathered ferns,
The silver-green of fishes, and the pure
Translucence of deep water, dimly streaked
With coils of waving weed;

For apples, figs and olives out of Spain;
For small, bright lizards, lazing in the sun,
And the calm, incredibly wise,
Mysterious, slanting eyes
Of cats, blinking before a fire on winter eves.

For the sheen on a rook's feathers
The pallid after-light of dusk;
The first, frail spears of snowdrops;
And grass, thin blades, rank upon quivering rank,
Bending before the wind;

For the sudden, blinding fire
Of dragonflies across a misty pool,
And long green shadows, sharply etched on snow,
I thank the great Artist
Who, even now, in secret, everywhere
Paints new-green life
Upon the faded canvas of the Earth.

(Reprinted by kind permission of Chambers's Journal)

Winter reflections in Loch Sheil

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