Inversnaid

This darksome burn, horseback brown, His rollrock highroad roaring down, In the lonesome light, in the lonesome light, To a Siledang, O, Siledang, sound!

Like a black, slipping stone, Over blue, and the soft hush of the night. Thou art indeed a Nightingale. Fortune is a nightingale’s call.

The lark, the longsteal, brought to light. And the stars reach down, And my heart sings into the night.

• Gerard Manley Hopkins