You're the silver flash of salmon in the limpid mountain stream,
Will o' the Wisp in moonlight, snatch of birdsong in the dawn.
You're the Houri-song that lingers from a half-remembered dream
And the bowel stirring flutter of a baby yet unborn.
You're the quiet plash of wavelets on a steep-shelved shingle beach:
Crooning dirge and lilting cadence of a goblin's lullaby,
Siren-music throbbing passion, but forever out of reach.
You're the quintessence of joyful tears which burn behind the eye.
You're the spitting hiss of autumn wood in winter's fire-grate
And the whisper of the frosty wind in swooping mountain crags
You're the sob of joy-in-glory, which holds the breath a-wait
While the waking sun's first fingers melt the hoar-frost on the flags
You're the searing flash of memory that lights my dreaming smile,
And the soothing shawl of history that warps the very dream
And the mirage of Valhalla's strath which draws me onward, while
It strands my spirit, grieving, on the shore of academe.