I saw the Arran Hills shine through
A tender veil of shining haze;
Goatfell was seen—a fainter blue,
And Ailsa where the ocean plays
Around, a perfect silver blaze,
You think that sky and ocean kiss—
The first of all September days,
Was never such a day as this.
And nearer was the Ballast Bank,
And farther on the Lady Isle;
And each and all they seemed to thank
The day for having such a smile.
Dear heart, how sweet it was the while
To feel the wind upon my cheek,
To walk in silence for a mile,
To think and think and never speak.
And farther down the spires of Ayr
Rose up, and with them one grand name,
As wide as summer winds that bear
To all the ends of earth the same.
It boasts a century of fame
That widens; even the winds that blow,
They seem to babble and acclaim
One dead a hundred years ago.
And this the sea of Homer's song,
As swift as swiftest steeds are fleet;
An incommunicable wrong
Is in the waves, and they repeat
The same old sorrow at my feet.
The very light this summer day,
And all the winds that rush along
They cannot take their grief away.