White down adorns the winter trees.
No human hand shall ever weave
A cloak of dreams that slips away
As soon as sunlight whispers day.
Loch Tummel in enchantment sits
A view that for a queen seems fit.
As sheep come slowly from the hill
Cold fogs down on the valley swirl.
A lifetime might be spent in bliss…
If every scene were formed like this.
As though each promise were fulfilled
We walk, and linger, where we will.
And beauty dons its sovereign crown
To rule hearts where no subject bows.
And spring shall bring its doughty flowers
That grow by rocky crags and bowers.
When summer, listless as a cloud
Delights us with each passing hour.
And autumn skies will amberous glow
Until the winter mists and snow…