…
(For a friend who went there to paint.)
The grey, ferocious ocean
pounds on the silent shore,
and waves rush to thrash the beach
and the beach lies still for more,
and honest maidens anciently
wed fishermen and bore
Here ruthless Norseman orgied
and seas of blood were shed,
and annoyed the ancient islanders
and painted whole towns red,
and honest maidens fearfully
hitched up their skirts and fled.
These isles the Vikings ravaged
where wicked deeds were done,
Norwegians gave to Scotland
in 1471
and honest maidens hoped they now
had had their fill of run.
The Vikings and the Norsemen
have left the place in peace
and things no longer happen here
so nothing needn’t cease
And honest maids aren’t bothered now
so the public don’t increase.
Yet still the angry ocean
drives folk and the isles apart,
and barrenness and solitude
have struck at the Orkneys’ heart.
Now gifted ladies paint the scene
on canvas works of art.
Their eyes drawn to the highest points
-the skyline no-one reaches-
their gleam of human thinking gives
more light than a thousand speeches
And the wilderness invades their art
as the art invades the beaches.
With brush-touch of tenderness
they soothe the cruel sea
They clothe the solitudes and crags
with instant sympathy
which men with honey-tongues will sell
in Bond Street and Paree.
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