Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

A song thrush calls

clear among the hills,

with his recurring note

the rounded archway fills.

The bride who walks sunwise

up the path to the kirk door

brings a ray of light,

snowy foot on cobbled floor.

A flower on her golden head

by the stone-cut floret passes,

the stirring of a breeze

along the hilltop grasses.

Where the bridegroom waits

he has, for guard of honour,

two-handed sword, rowel spurs,

a carved warrior in armour.

From a very early time

love comes to live with them

by the wedding-kiss,

the blossom on the stem.

By the blessing of the rings,

two ripples in the pool,

a bride and bridegroom meet

as good as they are beautiful.

Love follows in the footsteps

of the constant and the leal:

those who came here before,

they are just as real.

For a thousand years and more,

voice to voice, their vows,

and for all those yet to come,

love is living in the now.

Through the green wood of Stobo

in the month of May

these two will go

to live and love always.