Клинтон Сколлард (Clinton Scollard)

The Isle of Doom

  Out of the mist off Galway shore,
    Out of the morning mist,
  Rose the island of Hy Brasail
    With its crags of amethyst;

  Crags of purple and amethyst,
    And meads of gleaming green,
  Rose the island of Hy Brasail
    With a shimmer of sea between.

  And what shall come to Galway shore,
    What shadow of doom prevail,
  With this fading dream of the mists of morn,
    This island of Hy Brasail?

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