Whispers on the whistling wind
and rustlings in the reeds
sing to me a song of sighs
and daring, dashing deeds.
The clamours of the closing clouds
now make the mountains moan
while frightening, flashing lightning leaps
in throngs ’round thunder’s throne.
But bedrock balanced on the brae
sits still in stately stone,
watching worlds winging by,
not lonely but alone.
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