Bright is the ring of words

When the right man rings them

Fair the fall of songs

When the singer sings them

Still they are carolled and said

On wings they are carried

After the singer is dead

And the maker buried

Low as the singer lies

In the field of heather

Songs of his fashion bring

The swains together

And when the west is red

With the sunset embers

The lover lingers and sings

And the maid remembers

R L Stevenson