Robert Louis Stevenson Duddingstone With caws and chirrupings, the woods In this thin sun rejoice. The Psalm seems but the little kirk That sings with its own voice. The cloud-rifts share their amber light With the surface of the mere - I think the very stones are glad To feel each other near. Once more my whole heart leaps and swells And gushes o'er with glee; The fingers of the sun and shade Touch music stops in me. Now fancy paints that bygone day When you were here, my fair - The whole lake rang with rapid skates In the windless winter air. You leaned to me, I leaned to you, Our course was smooth as flight - We steered - a heel-touch to the left, A heel-touch to the right. We swung our way through flying men, Your hand lay fast in mine: We saw the shifting crowd dispart, The level ice-reach shine. I swear by yon swan-travelled lake, By yon calm hill above, I swear had we been drowned that day We had been drowned in love.