Cruel and bright
E. Roy Thompson
Cruel and bright as the whin
Is my love, my love,
And cold as the light on the linn,
The light of her eyes.
Free as the kestrel in air
Is my love, my love,
And dark as the heather, her hair,
Beneath dark skies.
Like heather burned black by the fire,
Is my heart, my heart,
Burned black to the ash of desire,
As daylight dies.