The Heathered MoorWhere the pale mist curls on the heathered hill,And the old stones dream in the dew,A shadow moves where the world grows still—I walk the twilight through.
A memory lingers beside the stream,In the hush where linnets fly,I search for the echo of one lost dreamWhere glens meet the folding sky.
Oh, the wind knows your name in the gathering dusk,And the stars keep watch above—When the night bird sings in the haunted hush,I remember, I remember love.
So I’ll follow the path where willows bend,Past ruins, mossy and old—For I know at the end where the moon ascendsIs a story yet untold.
Oh, the wind knows your name in the gathering dusk,And the stars keep watch above—When the night bird sings in the haunted hush,I remember love.