Yon Wild Mossy Mountains

The stars are there are telling me that I don´t look them enough, but every time I do so, I fall captive of their endless beauty and mystery. The moon I talk with a bit more often, but I am afraid I treat her a bit like a wife that I take for granted, waiting for her to be there for me every time I fancy looking at her. Tonight I talked to them for a bit, the stars and the moon. It was not the deepest conversation that we have ever had, but it was sufficient to keep our relationship going on for a bit longer. Luckily there was the water running quick and rhythmically to give the moment the proper ambiance and we all reached some kind of understanding and this sense of humbleness that helps to sort out every problem in every relationship.

I wish I went more to that tiny spot of the world. They don´t make them like this anymore, not in the big cities at least.

***

By the way, tonight is Burns night. I hope you have a happy Burns night and something that reminds you of the meaningless yet beautiful nature of our lifes. In case of doubt, look at the sky. Or, like Burns suggests, the wild mossy mountains.

Yon Wild Mossy Mountains

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o’ the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro’ the heather to feed,
And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed.

Not Gowrie’s rich valley, nor Forth’s sunny shores,
To me hae the charms o’yon wild, mossy moors;
For there, by a lanely, sequestered stream,
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path,
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath;
For there, wi’ my lassie, the day lang I rove,
While o’er us unheeded flie the swift hours o’love.

She is not the fairest, altho’ she is fair;
O’ nice education but sma’ is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be;
But I lo’e the dear lassie because she lo’es me.

To Beauty what man but maun yield him a prize,
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs?
And when wit and refinement hae polish’d her darts,
They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts.

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond-sparkling e’e,
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me;
And the heart beating love as I’m clasp’d in her arms,
O, these are my lassie’s all-conquering charms!

Robert BURNS

 

 

 

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