I sailed among the Orcades

In the green encircling seas.

So near the isles our nest did glide

I picked a flower at the waterside;

And just so quickly were we sped

That I bruised the stalk and plucked the head.

There was no foam upon the waves,

They swelled to glassy hills and caves;

But foam white were the thorns that grew

Among the meadow flowers blue.

That gavest such a dream to me.