Closing of A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle (Hugh MacDiarmid)

Yet ha’e I Silence left, the croon o’ a’.

No’ her, wha on the hills langsyne I saw
Liftin’ a foreheid o’ perpetual snaw.

No’ her, wha in the how-dumb-deid o’ nicht
Kyths, like Eternity in Time’s despite.

No’ her, withooten shape, wha’s name is Daith,
No’ Him, unkennable abies to faith

—God whom, gin e’er He saw a man, ’ud be
E’en mair dumfooner’d at the sicht than he

—But Him, whom nocht in man or Deity,
Or Daith or Dreid or Laneliness can touch,  
Wha’s deed owre often and has seen owre much.

O I ha’e Silence left

                               —‘And weel ye micht,’
Sae Jean’ll say, ‘efter sic a nicht!’

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