Fetched from the solemn deeps, at flow of tide,
The Esk brought sun and silence to the vale;
The yellow woodlands, weary with the gale,
Murmured no more; on Birkby’s russet side
Clouds dropped their quiet shadows; far and wide
Scawfell looked forth, beneficently pale;
While rooks, at mellow distance, told the tale
Of hearts content and hunger satisfied.
A soft wind set the thistle dancers free,
And, like the ripple of a sunlit stream
Running in air, it shook the thousand hues
Of leaf to radiance: it was hard to choose—
The forest waking from a golden dream,
The dreamless slumber of the silver sea.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 83)