Midwinter

We two confess twin loyalties— Wychwood beneath the April skies Is yours, and many a scented road That winds in June by Evenlode. Not less when autumn fires the brake, Yours the deep heath by Fannich's lake, The corries where the dun deer roar And eagles wheel above Sgurr Mór. So I, who love with equal mind The southern sun, the northern wind, The lilied lowland water-mead And the grey hills that cradle Tweed, Bring you this tale which haply tries To intertwine our loyalties.