I know a purple moorland where a blue loch lies, <br />Where the lonely plover circles, and the peewit cries, <br />Oh! do you yet remember that dear day in September, <br />The hills and shadowy waters beneath those tender skies? <br /> <br />Behind the scythes, swift-flashing, a wealth of gold corn lay, <br />In every brake a singing voice had some sweet word to say, <br />When we took the track together across a world of heather, <br />With Joy before us like a star to point the pleasant way. <br /> <br />* * * * * <br /> <br />In Kerry of the Kings you hear the cuckoo call, <br />You watch the gorse grow withered and its yellow glory fall: <br />Yet may some dream blow o'er you the welcome that's before you, <br />Among the wind-swept heather and gray glens of Donegal.<br /><br />Anna Johnston MacManus<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-donegal/
