A Wordsworth poem…
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We were a noisy crew, the sun in heaven
Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours,
Nor saw a band in happiness and joy
Richer, or worthier of the ground they trod.
I would record with no reluctant voice
The woods of autumn and their hazel bowers
With milk-white clusters hung; the rod and line,
True symbol of the foolishness of hope,
Which with its strong enchantment led us on
By rocks and pools, shut out from every star
All the green summer, to forlorn cascades
Among the windings of the mountain brooks.
– William Wordsworth
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