A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
I've come by, she says, to tell you
that this is it. I'm not kidding, it's
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her arrange
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
Heart it is, not a brick or stone
Why shouldn't it feel the pain?
Let none tyrannize this heart
Or I shall cry again and again
When the heart is hard and parched up,
come upon me with a shower of mercy.
When grace is lost from life,
ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.
We sit beside the headstone thus,
during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with