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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In my New York suburb, I’m mildly fond Of Helvellyn Road, and Gracemere pond But the original Helvellyn called... Ravenglass too, even the name enthralled. Of Lake poets, I eagerly read And I found what Alfred Wainright once said: [chorus] His words echo across time’s bridge That always there will be the lonely ridge, the silent forest, the dancing beck Though we have fleeting time on a cosmic speck. Wordsworth thought the loveliest spot ever found was near Grasmere Lake so I walked it around. I beat the crowd to the top of Scafell Pike Saw crags on all sides, what not to like? Saw the Mourne mountains across the Irish sea Snowdonia in Wales, steeped in history. Wordsworth liked walking when mists veiled the sky, Mists add variety, they distort, they magnify. Hugging emerald meadows and tarns and becks The mist lifts, to glorious backdrop effects. I've often gone to where the grapevine led, And I remembered what Wordsworth said: [chorus] One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, than all the sages can. I'd like to be on an airy ridge, seeing far It would be cool to climb steps up a limestone scar then stride to a big-sky panorama Maybe join a fell runner, in nature's drama. Follow Wordsworth where the rugged trail led Recite once more what the poet said: [chorus] A deep delight the bosom thrills Of these fraternal hills: On top stones like bones the earth left alone, But on those stones lichen has grown Colored between the rocks and sky The Lake District kind of high. At the foot of Saddleback, while its brow appeared A sad purple before cloud-shadow cleared To the left I saw the jaws of Borrowdale On the pure lake a standing man with a windswept sail. There’s a confession I should make The trip to Cumbria I could not take I could only watch videos on my PC Experiencing the region vicariously. I make room in my mental space For the good times of those who visit the lakes. I think of sunset on a ridge, a hiker’s face aglow, And that somewhere this exists is comforting to know. An imagined eyrie where spirits fly And fell runners reach that Lake District high.
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