Beithe/ birch
| theirte airgead theirte taibhse theirte gun dìon i bhon t-sùil nach iarrte theirte gun dùisg i grian a’ chèitein faic a cruinn àrd airgeadach an iomadachd liath mar phlaide thaibhsean am barraichean mar chuan de shumainn shiùbhlach thar bhràighean nan gleann ’s i oighreachd gealbhuinn sliochdmhorachd a buadh theirte gur slat a’ ghaoil i cuin a chunnacas crann cho seang cho subhach cho dìreach cho lìonmhor leann mar loinid ann a fèithean fìon brodach ann a fèithean mìlseachd nam pòg ann a fèithean |
silver, it’s said a ghost, it is said protects from the harmful eye, they say it’ll wake the mayday sun, they say see its tall silver poles their multitudinous grey like a plaid of ghosts their branched tops make a sea of fluid billows on the slopes of glens it’s the sparrow’s estate fertility is in its gift the tree of love, it is said when was a mast seen so slender so merry so straight so copious a froth of ale in its veins a teasing wine in its veins sweet sap of kisses in its veins |
| poem by aonghas macneacail | |