| |
| ALL our haunts have graceful titles. | |
| Silver-sounding Windermere, | |
| With its Brathay and its Rothay, | |
| Falls like music soft and clear; | |
| Out from under noble Kirkstone, | 5 |
| All adown the mountain-side, | |
| Like a swift yet gentle motion, | |
| ’Lights the white-walled Ambleside; | |
| Freshly wave the woods of Rydal, | |
| Our Grasmere may all men know | 10 |
| For a haunt of peace and pleasure | |
| Whose eyes have ne’er seen Silver How, | |
| Sought the happy glen of Easedale, | |
| Or Seat-Sandal’s height explored, | |
| Or looked upon our own Helvellyn | 15 |
| Over all things mountain-lord; | |
| Glaramara, home of thunder, | |
| Little Langdale fair to see, | |
| Heights of awe or scenes of beauty | |
| Seem to tell us what they be; | 20 |
| Whether Dungeon Ghyll the gloomy | |
| Or the lofty lone Red Tarn, | |
| Or Troutbeck vale or Elterwater, | |
| These can beckon, those can warn: | |
| Save one nursling, no true daughter, | 25 |
| Wrynose, set amidst the south, | |
| A hideous child that was deserted | |
| By its mother Cockermouth. | |
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