The Gean-Trees

By Violet Jacob

    I mind, when I dream at nicht,
    Whaur the bonnie Sidlaws stand
    Wi’ their feet on the dark’nin’ land
    An their heids i’ the licht;
    An the thochts o’ youth roll back
    Like wreaths frae the hillside track
    In the Vale o’ Strathmore;
    And the autumn leaves are turnin’
    And the flame o’ the gean-trees burnin’
    Roond the white hoose door.

    Aye me, when spring cam’ green
    And May-month decked the shaws
    There was scarce a blink o’ the wa’s
    For the flower o’ the gean;
    But when the hills were blue
    Ye could see them glintin’ through
    An the sun i’ the lift;
    An the flower o’ the gean-trees fa’in’
    Was like pairls frae the branches snawin’
    In a lang white drift.

    Thae trees are fair and gay
    When May-month’s in her prime,
    But I’m thrawn wi’ the blasts o’ time
    An my heid’s white as they;
    But an auld man aye thinks lang
    O’ the hauchs he played amang
    In his braw youth-tide;
    An there’s ane that aye keeps yearnin’
    For a hoose whaur the leaves are turnin’
    An the flame o’ the gean-tree burnin’
    By the Sidlaws’ side.

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