Two swifts, in May, in their amorous fall
Combine as one-love’s piercing call.
In quiet contemplation of the scene-
We walk-as if- within a dream
Down this, on other Lakeland ways
Whose beauties Wordsworth would’ve praised.
The Derwent flows onward in its quest
The air smells sweet upon the breath.
In that quietness which pervades
The sheep in dappled sunlight graze.
If, ever, life could be like this
Who would the noise of cities miss?
And in our parting from this place
The mountains with their solemn grace.
How thoughts would turn to home again
For all must share the fate of men…