When the cool north wind blows the hills are clear,
Holding no secrets; every field and croft,
Each tree and rock, is naked to the sight.
Despite the miles, the distant is brought near.
But when the south wind, languorous and soft,
Breathes o’er the land its perfumes of delight,
The far hills draw away, they disappear
Into a haze of mystery, and oft
Dissolve into a sea of cloudy light,
As if the eye were misted by a tear.
So the cool touch of reason makes all plain,
And logic clarifies the state of mind;
But sentiment and feeling make us blind,
Confusing judgment with a needless pain.
Weekly Times 16.3.62