Here is the cavaburd in which Earth’s tint.
There’s naebody but Oblivion and us,
Puir gangrel buddies, waunderin’ hameless in’t.
The stars are larochs o’ auld cottages,
And a’ Time’s glen is fu’ o’ blinnin’ stew.
Nae freen’ly lozen skimmers: and the wund
Rises and separates even me and you.[15]
I ken nae Russian and you ken nae Scots.
We canna tell oor voices frae the wund.
The snaw is seekin’ everywhere: oor herts