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[Index to poems in the collection by Francis Brett Young]

Lochanilaun

    THIS is the image of my last content:
    My soul shall be a little lonely lake,
    So hidden that no shadow of man may break
    The folding of its mountain battlement;
    Only the beautiful and innocent
    Whiteness of sea-born cloud drooping to shake
    Cool rain upon the reed-beds, or the wake
    Of churned cloud in a howling wind's descent.
    For there shall be no terror in the night
    When stars that I have loved are born in me,
    And cloudy darkness I will hold most fair;
    But this shall be the end of my delight:
    That you, my lovely one, may stoop and see
    Your image in the mirrored beauty there.

    Francis Brett Young

[Index to poems in the collection by Francis Brett Young]


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