Where lies the land to which thy soul would go?-- Beyond the wearied wold, the songless dell, The purple grape and golden asphodel, Beyond the zone where streams baptismal flow. Where lies the land of which thy soul would know?-- There where the unvexed senses darkling dwell, Where never haunting, hurrying footfall fell, Where toil is not, nor...Learn More

Vocal yet voiceless, lingering, lambent, white With the wide wings of evening on the fell, The tranquil vale, the enchanted citadel,-- Another day swoons to another night. Speak low: from bare Blencathra's purple height The sound o' the ghyll falls furled; and, loath to go, A continent of cloud its plaited snow Wears far away athwart a lake of...Learn More