BEYOND the north wind lay the land of old br Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed br With joy’s bright raiment and with love’s sweet bread, br The whitest flock of earth’s maternal fold. br None there might wear about his brows enrolled br A light of lovelier fame than rings your head, br Whose lovesome love of children and the dead br All men give thanks for: I far off behold br A dear dead hand that links us, and a light br The blithest and benignest of the night, br The night of death’s sweet sleep, wherein may be br A star to show your spirit in present sight br Some happier island in the Elysian sea br Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie.