Glen Dhoon

Up from the sea
Up the dark cleft of the Dhoon,
With a Viking roar
Rifling the ferns
Savaging trees, comes the wind.
Down, far down on the shore
The disconsolate sea
Turns — turns
On its bed of slate:
While the waterfall,
Cunning and cool,
Collectedly slips
From one grey pool to another,
And sings as it goes.
Wind roars, trees groan.
The frail ferns utter
Their ineffectual protest.
The inconsolable sea
Keens on its bed of stone.
Nothing in tune or in key,
Yet each separate tone
Welded in one long
Composite chord
Like overtones of a great bell tolling —
Discordant, savage, uncouth
— Yet strangely consoling.