  A little lonely moorland lake, Its waters brown and cool and deep— The cliff, the hills behind it make A picture for my heart to keep. For rock and heather, wave and strand, Wore tints I never saw them wear; The June sunshine was o'er the land, Before, 'twas never half so fair! The amber ripples sang all day, And singing spilled their crowns of white Upon the beach, in thin pale spray That streaked the sober sand with light. When suddenly from far o'erhead A lark's pure voice mixed with the throng Of lovely things about us spread. Some flowers were there, so near the brink Their shadows in the waves were thrown; While mosses, green and gray and pink, Grew thickly round each smooth dark stone. And, over all, the summer sky, Shut out the town we left behind; 'Twas joy to stand in silence by, One bright chain linking mind to mind. O, little lonely mountain spot! Your place within my heart will be Apart from all Life's busy lot A true, sweet, solemn memory. Rose Kavanagh |
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