Landscape—Western Isles

HERE the headlands hold themselves
in eternal endurance
while the waves cat-like
sharpen cold translucent claws
on their iron-black rocks.

Peewit curlew and gull
people the wild air,
trailing ribbons of plaintive sound
across the upland sky,
weaving a Celtic interlace
in strange patterns of crying.

The smooth grey rock, sun-warm,
tilts into the cold burn
brown like beer, foam-flecked,
between pale wet sphagnum
stabled with dark rushes
starred with butterwort.

Stones tumble, sprawl down
from giant-piled fort walls,
slabs edge the cairn grave—
stark ruined ancient days
sleep by the whitewashed croft
and to-day's quiet ploughing.

Dwelling in all the sea—
scent sound and colour—
and the grey-blue far hills
mothered by Jura's paps:
portentous, the symbol
of the ancient earth-goddess.

23 June 1945