INVERSNAID

This darksome burn, horseback brown

His rollrock highroad, roaring down

In coop and in comb, the fleece of his foam

Flutes and low to the lake falls home

What would the world be, once bereft

Of wet and of wildness, let them be left

Oh let them be left, wildness and wet

Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet

Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet

A windpuff bonnet of fawn froth

Turns and twindles over the broth

Of a pool so pitch black, fell-frowning

It rounds and rounds, despair to drowning

Degged with dew, dappled with dew

Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through

And wiry heathpacks and flinches of fern

And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn