I should wade through these waters of beatitude
The dawn shines brisk for the nonce,
upon the hawthorns of the meadows.
The rays are seen brightening nigh,
the carpets of bluebells in the wealds.
A lively glimmer within the willow trees,
that shelters there the villatic lowlands.
Soon the sundry boughs that bustle,
glint the knolls of the loftier highlands.
The gleam grazes the slade of tors,
and the verdure of the grassy glades.
And gilds and resplends with radiance,
the sunsets within the murky shades.
Afterwards to then glisten straightway,
the bustling firths and the estuaries.
Whereupon dwell the soothing inlets,
that lie ahead of celestial sanctuaries.
Thus a glare betides upon the glens,
beyond the nearby shimmering lochs.
Thereafter the shine rests beautifully,
on this lovely haven as the sun balks.
Henceforth a lone man skirls thuswise,
a bagpipe that bestows then a dazzle.
An angelic cherub soon encroaches,
upon the solace of a distant castle.
And an astray gannet brings comfort,
to the mild change in the vicissitude.
Amidst a broad welkin I should wade,
through these waters of beatitude.
