The Hills

Sweet is the air that I breathe again, Sweet are the hills in the dawn. Their solitude cradles my heart with pain, While I wonder if ever a leaf was born.

O the heavy heart of the sunlit grass, The heavy star of the trees, When the cloud of golden strength draws nigh, And the purple runs to the breeze.

I can see as now I have always seen, The arms of the woodlands rise; They cover the ground in a shade that’s green, To reflect in the pallid skies.

For the hills are beautiful, never shy, They lay themselves out wide; While I stood like a child who suddenly Cries out for joy without pride.

• David Campbell