The Gean-Trees

A poem by Violet Jacob

I mind, when I dream at nicht,
Whaur the bonnie Sidlaws stand
Wi' their feet on the dark'nin' land
An their heids i' the licht;
An the thochts o' youth roll back
Like wreaths frae the hillside track
In the Vale o' Strathmore;
And the autumn leaves are turnin'
And the flame o' the gean-trees burnin'
Roond the white hoose door.

Aye me, when spring cam' green
And May-month decked the shaws
There was scarce a blink o' the wa's
For the flower o' the gean;
But when the hills were blue
Ye could see them glintin' through
An the sun i' the lift;
An the flower o' the gean-trees fa'in'
Was like pairls frae the branches snawin'
In a lang white drift.

Thae trees are fair and gay
When May-month's in her prime,
But I'm thrawn wi' the blasts o' time
An my heid's white as they;
But an auld man aye thinks lang
O' the hauchs he played amang
In his braw youth-tide;
An there's ane that aye keeps yearnin'
For a hoose whaur the leaves are turnin'
An the flame o' the gean-tree burnin'
By the Sidlaws' side.