Scottish Hiland Encounter

A lonely solitary sound With voice still young and yet profound Floats lightly cross a mountain stream; Her song an all consuming dream. No Nightingale has pined as sweet Nor laid such beauty at my feet. Such plaintive strains of purity Enrapture like a symphony. No springtime trill of Whippoorwill Can touch so much my weary will Or shine as bright a healing light To lift the darkness from the night. No Sirens of exotic seas Heard off the Southern Hebrides Could lift so high my troubled soul Or fill it full to joyous whole. Her Highland Gaelic, lost to me, In perfect pitch and melody. Yet language lost does not affect My love for ancient dialect. And now across a foggy stream I see her there as in a dream; She sees me standing here amiss, Then throws a sweet and blissful kiss.