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Poetry from within
   

Beacon Hill, Penrith


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….

Robert Carson