Highland Spring

There's mating madness in the air,
Passionate, grave! The blossoms burst;
The burns run quick to lips a-thirst;
And solemn gaze young maids, heart-free.

The white clouds race, the sun rays flare
And turn to gold the pallid mist;
With greedy mouth the Spring has kissed
The wind that links the sky with sea.

The blue and lonely mountains stare,
As if to draw the blue above.
The hour is come! O Flower of Love!
I can no longer keep from thee!
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