Poems and Songs

Freedom of the Hills

Mine is the freedom of the tranquil hills

When vagrant breezes bend the sinewy grass,

While sunshine on the widespread landscape spills

And light as down the  fleet cloud-shadowed pass.

Mine, still, that freedom when the storm-clouds race,

Cracking their whips against defiant crags

And mists swirl boiling up from inky space

To vanish on the instant, torn to rags.

When winter grips the mountains in a vice,

Silently stifling with its pall of snow,

Checking the streams, draping the rocks in ice,

Still to their mantled summits I would go.

Sun-drenched, I sense the message they impart;

Storm-lashed, I hear it sing through every vein;

Among the snows it whispers to my heart

Here is your freedom.   Taste - and come again.

Douglas Fraser


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