I think that I've become a little obsessed with Canon Hardwicke Rawnsley recently! Both his verse and his prose writings succeed in conjuring up the essence of the Lake District. So, here is a sonnet from his wonderful little book "Sonnets at the English Lakes" - simply beautiful.
These days are the days before the Swallow dance
With twittering music skims the liquid floor,
When not as yet along the sombre shore
The daffodils in amber thousands glance,
When first the woods and uplands blush in trance,
And change comes in the mountain foreheads hoar
When life, bold life, victorious at the core,
Stirs in each bud, and owns the Spring's advance.
Autumn, with songless days and glassy lakes,
Is here, high-lifted in his ivory throne
Still Winter sits,- albeit his empire shakes-
And Spring doth now the royal purples don;
With Summer looks the larger morning wakes,
And all the seasons soften into one.
These days are the days before the Swallow dance
With twittering music skims the liquid floor,
When not as yet along the sombre shore
The daffodils in amber thousands glance,
When first the woods and uplands blush in trance,
And change comes in the mountain foreheads hoar
When life, bold life, victorious at the core,
Stirs in each bud, and owns the Spring's advance.
Autumn, with songless days and glassy lakes,
Is here, high-lifted in his ivory throne
Still Winter sits,- albeit his empire shakes-
And Spring doth now the royal purples don;
With Summer looks the larger morning wakes,
And all the seasons soften into one.