Chunna mi aig a’ chladh an-dè iad,
Le adan dubh orr’, ’s grian ag èirigh,
Deàrrsadh dhìtheanan mun casan,
Is fear a’ caitheamh searbh-lèine.
Lasair an adhair, cuan a’ seinn,
Dòrtadh fheur, is seasmhachd bheann,
Còmhradh bàsmhor adan dorcha,
Bàrdachd samhraidh bun-os-cionn.
Latha farsaing fad’ air fàire,
Bìoball a’ losgadh ann an làmhan
Gaoithe ’s grèine, ’s cuan a’ tuiteam
Mar dheise fhalamh air an tràigh ud.
’S tha esan a-nise far a bheil e,
Mo nàbaidh na laighe fon t-seillean
A’ crònan am measg dhìthean milis.
B’ e ’m bàs a thug bàs dha ’s cha b’ e ’m peileir.
Is grian a’ dòrtadh, cuan a’ dòrtadh,
Adan dubh’ gu dorch a’ seòladh
Air cuan ròsan mar a dh’fhalbhas
Facail bhochd air làn na ceòlraidh. |
I saw them yesterday at the cemetery
Wearing black hats, while a sun was rising,
A glowing of flowers about their feet
And one wearing a salt shirt.
Glitter of the sky, sea singing,
Pouring of grass, steadiness of mountains,
Mortal conversation of black hats,
Poetry of summer topsy-turvy.
A long wide day on the horizon,
A Bible burning in the hands
Of wind and sun, and a sea falling
Like an empty dress on that shore.
But he is now where he is,
My neighbour lying under the bee
That is humming among sweet flowers.
It was death that killed him and not the bullet.
Sun pouring, sea pouring,
Black hats darkly sailing
On a sea of roses as there sail
Poor words on a full tide of music. |
