Scotland small? Our multiform, our infinite Scotland _small_?
 Only as a patch of hillside may be a cliche corner
 To a fool who cries "Nothing but heather!" Where in September another
 Sitting there and resting and gazing around
 Sees not only heather but blaeberries
 With bright green leaves and leaves already turned scarlet,
 Hiding ripe blue berries; and amongst the sage-green leaves
 Of the bog-myrtle the golden flowers of the tormentil shining;
 And on the small bare places, where the little Blackface sheep
 Found grazing, milkworts blue as summer skies;
 And down in neglected peat-hags, not worked
 In living memory, sphagnum moss in pastel shades
 Of yellow, green and pink; sundew and butterwort
 And nodding harebells vying in their colour
 With the blue butterflies that poise themselves delicately upon them,
 And stunted rowans with harsh dry leaves of glorious colour
 "Nothing but heather!" -- How marvellously descriptive! And incomplete!