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“my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.”
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“Who plays the Song of Songs upon the Hills of Dream? It is said Love is that need-player, for There is no song like his. But today I saw one, on these still garths of shadow and silence, who put a hollow reed to his lips and played a white spell of beauty. Then I knew Love and Sorrow to be one, as in the old myth of Oengus of the White Birds and The Grey Shadows.”
― Where the Forest Murmurs : Nature Essays by Fiona Macleod
― Where the Forest Murmurs : Nature Essays by Fiona Macleod
“How beautiful they are,
The lordly ones
Who dwell in the hills,
In the hollow hills.
They have faces like flowers, And their breath is wind
That blows over grass
Filled with dewy clover.
Their limbs are more white . .
Than shafts of moonshine :
They are more fleet Than the March wind.
They laugh and are glad And are terrible :
When their lances shake
Every green reed quivers.
How beautiful they are,
How beautiful
The lordly ones
In the hollow hills.”
― The Immortal Hour: A Drama in Two Acts
The lordly ones
Who dwell in the hills,
In the hollow hills.
They have faces like flowers, And their breath is wind
That blows over grass
Filled with dewy clover.
Their limbs are more white . .
Than shafts of moonshine :
They are more fleet Than the March wind.
They laugh and are glad And are terrible :
When their lances shake
Every green reed quivers.
How beautiful they are,
How beautiful
The lordly ones
In the hollow hills.”
― The Immortal Hour: A Drama in Two Acts
