In the Fells

On amber slopes bent ‘neath their sway, where the sun-silenced rest was likened, did dreams linger, as whispers hold sway, gathering gold bloom where winds were beckoned.

Though steep ways lay pressed ‘neath the trees, and the echoes took flight through wandering arras; should the night pass here on drowsy knees, and the throng cometh weave through the bright sarous,

Then the breath that lingers must align, past the highlands where sweet pleasures cling; we gather these dreams sparkling in bright shine; where each line stretched as we sought the spring.

So the Fells wink in the sun’s last glow, as the quiet depths pull softly low.

• Dante Gabriel Rossetti