Lay for the Day
Wordsworth was born on this day in 1770 at Cockermouth in Cumberland,
on the northwestern rim of Englands Lake District, the region that
much of his writing celebrated and made known to the world at large.
at the valleys head. While we climb the one,
though gravity and stepless, boggy spots
resist the aspiring tread, the others
head is locked in snagging mist or, clearing,
is plotted with fleeing sunshine and shade,
particoloured and sombre, the skys speed
registered on that brave massiveness.
The streams are so cold and
that theyre dark on the stone. Mountain sheep
run from the path, mountain birds fly up
rrom the long grass, and the sun rains lark song.
Below, the force mutters in the oak wood.
Above, blunt-winged ravens circle the crag.
Climbing a mountain, while
the light levels,
keep moving; you only rest for a breath.
Climbing a mountain, as night approaches,
to find at the top a place of bare stone
that the wind rushes over, and the rain
and gloom fall upon. Cloud is a torrent
from the sudden peaks. The rock is lifted
as a breast with breath.
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