124
SONGS OF THE ROAD
And through a wild and dark ravine,
As bleak a pass as we have seen,
Until we slowly circled down
And settled into Settle town.
On Sunday, in the pouring rain,
We started on our way again.
Through Kirkby Lonsdale on we drove,
The weary rain-clouds still above,
Until at last at Windermere
We felt our final port was near,
Thence the lake with wooded beach
Stretches far as eye can reach.
There above its shining breast
We enjoyed our welcome rest.
Tuesday saw us—still in rain—
Buzzing on our road again.
Rydal first, the smallest lake,
