Tourist & Guide c. 1880
A photo in the Brotherswater Inn, Patterdale
With faith in all the cubits of the Ark, A cleric stares, his crook against his shoulder, At the official but unshown sublime. His guide, flat-capped, is standing by a boulder,
Moustache about the corners of his mouth And plainly thinks, ‘Another right one here.’ His panniered sulky pony turns away And neither greatly cares for Wordsworthshire.
His father may have witnessed flower thieves At Rydal Mount, or sliced some flapjack for Miss Wordsworth, who was fit to steal the stuff And would come hopeful to the kitchen door.
He knows vast sunsets and the mine’s cathedral. Freedom is ranging over streams and rocks. The groundsel blooms, fells stay: beyond religion Such ancient trust is truly orthodox.