Here, while the loom of Winter weaves <br />The shroud of flowers and fountains, <br />I think of thee and summer eves <br />Among the Northern mountains. <br /> <br />When thunder tolled the twilight's close, <br />And winds the lake were rude on, <br />And thou wert singing, _Ca' the Yowes_, <br />The bonny yowes of Cluden! <br /> <br />When, close and closer, hushing breath, <br />Our circle narrowed round thee, <br />And smiles and tears made up the wreath <br />Wherewith our silence crowned thee; <br /> <br />And, strangers all, we felt the ties <br />Of sisters and of brothers; <br />Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes <br />Now smile upon another's? <br /> <br />The sport of Time, who still apart <br />The waifs of life is flinging; <br />Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart <br />Draw nearer for that singing! <br /> <br />Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, <br />And twilight's fire is gleaming, <br />I hear the songs of Scotland's bard <br />Sound softly through my dreaming! <br /> <br />A song that lends to winter snows <br />The glow of summer weather,-- <br />Again I hear thee ca' the yowes <br />To Cluden's hills of heather<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-memory-27/
