With laughter and kisses, to smite it to spray;
To thine uttermost deep, unlitten and cold,
I thrill thee with rapture, then wander away.
I have drunk the red wine of the heather, and swept
Over moorland and fell, for mile upon mile.
The little blue loughs were merry, and leapt,
With a shaking of laughter, in dim, dreaming hollows;
The little blue loughs were merry, and flung
Their spray on my wings as above them I swung;
I laughed to their laughter, and dallied awhile;