Too soothe and mild your lowland airs <br />for one whose hope is gone: <br />I'm think of the little tarn, <br />Brown, very lone. <br /> <br />Would now the tall swift mists could lay <br />their wet grasp on my hair, <br />and the great natures of the hills <br />round me friendly were. <br /> <br />In vain! - for taking hills your plains <br />have spoilt my soul I think, <br />But would my feet were going down <br />Towards the brown tarn's brink.<br /><br />Lascelles Abercrombie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/margaret-s-song-2/
