This page needs to be proofread.
You cannot rest so far from home,
Your heart will miss the northern wind,
Back from the lowland fields will com«.
Your soul the grave can never bind.
Once more your hands will trim the sail
That carries us across the bay
To where the summer islands pale
Over the seas and far away.
And you will sail and watch with me
The things we saw and loved before.
The happy islands of the sea,
The breakers white against the shore.
A hundred joys that we held dear
Will call you from the Flanders town,
And in the evenings I shall hear
Your chorus of the Nighean doun.
19
