Poem by Marion Angus

The Fiddler

A fine player was he …
‘Twas the heather at my knee,
The Lang Hill o’ Fare
An’ a reid rose-tree,
A bonnie dryin’ green,
Wind fae aff the braes,
Liftin’ and shiftin’
The clear-bleached claes.

Syne he played again …
‘Twas dreep, dreep o’ rain,
A bairn at the breist
An’ a warm hearth-stane,
Fire o’ the peat,
Scones o’ barley meal
An’ the whirr, whirr, whirr,
O’ a spinnin’-wheel.

Bit aye, wae’s me!
The hindmaist tune he made …
‘Twas juist a dune wife
Greetin’ in her plaid,
Winds o’ a’ the years,
Naked wa’s atween,
And heather creep, creepin’
Ower the bonnie dryin’ green.

1. A Breton Woman Sings
2. Spring
3. Invitation
4. The Silver City
5. Alas! Poor Queen

Lola Ridge The Fiddler ("Through the milky haze of the smoke")

Print

1403 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version