Pennae Columbae
O love, that you and I might wing our way
Far from the restlessness of earth and sea,
Past the fresh well-heads of the springing day,
To where grey hills sleep everlastingly!
They through the lapse of ages sleep unchanged
(From the primeval deeps they never burst)
In that sweet land where yet unborn we ranged,
By those swift rivers where I loved you first.
Far from the restlessness of earth and sea,
Past the fresh well-heads of the springing day,
To where grey hills sleep everlastingly!
They through the lapse of ages sleep unchanged
(From the primeval deeps they never burst)
In that sweet land where yet unborn we ranged,
By those swift rivers where I loved you first.
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