Eider afloat in the bay,
Cloud-capped isles far out,
This thyme-sweet turf I tread,
Real under my feet,

These were your world,
Your loved and known;
Can you recall to mind
Wrack-strewn shore and tide-wet stone?

I seek you in wave-wrought shell,
In wild bird’s eye:
What country have the dead
But memory?

We who travel time
Call past and gone
Remembered days that those who dream
Call home.