Classic Poem

(Isle Tiree)

The mornings came like sweethearts there,
And whistled me from bed,
Monaltree! Monaltree!
Never a care had I, but up
And followed where they led.
Brave little streams were flowing there,
Tansy and thyme were growing there,
Scenting the bland winds blowing there
That once could blow the breath of life
In me if I were dead.
Monaltree! Monaltree!

Gay was the world was in it then,
Nothing at all to rue,
Monaltree! Monaltree!
A bird was in the breast o' me,
My step was light's the dew.
I mind the sea-gull's crying then,
Myself I could be flying then!
There was no dule nor dying then,
Going to bed and sleep again
The only grief I knew,
Monaltree! Monaltree!

At night when I'm remembering,
My loss must vex me still,
Monaltree! Monaltree!
The gallant days all over with,
Joy gone from wave and hill.
No more for me the breeze is there,
Nor He among the trees is there,
But sorrow of the seas is there;
No more the sweetheart morns will come
And whistle me where I will,
Monaltree! Monaltree!