By Nan Shepherd
Here on the edge of Europe I stand on the edge of being.
Floating on light, isle after isle take wing.
Burning blue are the peaks, rock that is older than thought,
And the sea burns blue—or is it the air between?—
They merge, they take one another upon them,
I have fallen through time and found the enchanted world,
Where all is beginning. The obstinate rocks
Are a fire of blue, a pulse of power, a beat
In energy, the sea dissolves,
And I too melt, am timeless, a pulse of light.
4 October 1950