Beacon Hill, Penrith

by | Jan 12, 2017 | Poetry | 0 comments

The rocks placed on the tarmac road
Where cars no longer ever go.
The two little sisters on the hill
Who languor there and ever will…
Like gifts the Gods bestowed on earth-.
The holly, the ponies, the singing birds.
The pathways dappled with the leaves
New-blown from the chestnut trees.
Ullswater, eternal guardian of our souls
Such treasures few who live can boast.
Helvelynn, of whom, the immortals wrote:
Elysian-sovereign of cloud and air
With whom no lover can compare…
Proud mistress of the sky and cloud
To whom the ghosts of Vikings bow…
Imperious, prodigious in your might
We stand entranced -as if a light
Had lured us to a Druid shrine
To drink our fill of blush-red wine.
And glimpse the secrets, which pagans thought
Diffused from knowledge death had brought.
Beyond pinewood, and quarry, the Beacon appears
The birds grow quiet as night draws near.
A butterfly flurrying through the trees
Brings thoughts of sunlit-autumn leaves.
Beacon Hill, inspires both young and old
…wander where lost dreams repose
While storm clouds gather and runnels flow
Through summer warmth, through winter snow
In your great shadow, mortals go….


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