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(from Open House for Butterflies, by Ruth Krauss and Maurice Sendak)
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In Robert Burns' Scots way of speaking, a "brae" is a hillside or slope, and the "braes" would refer to an upland area.
Afton Water
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning sweeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
--Robert Burns, and written in 1786
Here's the lovely (no, goddamned amazing) Nickel Creek performing maybe the best version ever sung to the lyrics of this poem:
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| Creekside switchgrass at season's end |
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| Coffee break |
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| 95% off the property: baked sweet potato, steamed mustard/chard, and fried deer. Getting there. |
And this is the view yesterday morning driving down from the top of the property to The Creek, with its own bit of cloud.
