In the last gleam of winter sun
A hundred starlings scream and screel
Among the ragged firs that stand
About the ruined Peel.

Bright singing birds of gold they were
To me when last, a little boy,
I came from Thirlwall, and they shook
The very sky with joy.

Still in that gleam of winter sun
A hundred starlings scream and screel
For ever in the ragged firs
About the ruined Peel.