Читать книгу The Life of Sir William Quiller Orchardson - Hilda Orchardson Gray - Страница 25
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Farewell! my native shores, farewell! Ye scenes that smile upon the Forth, Ye hills and dales I know so well, Ye islets of my native North! Farewell! your voice sits on the breeze, It sighs a last farewell to me, Your form sinks faintly in the seas And night veils my sad heart and thee.
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I do not know to which of the many ladies the following was addressed nor does it matter very much, for all these little poems were only passing thoughts:
