The coast lights up on its turret old,
Yellow with moss and sea-fog mould.
"Dreary the land when gust and sleet
At its doors and windows howl and beat,
And Winter laughs at its fires of peat!
"But in summer-time, when pool and pond,
Held in the laps of valleys fond,
Are blue as the glimpses of sea beyond;
"When the hills are sweet with brier-rose,
And, hid in the warm, soft dells, unclose