Wednesday 7 December 2016



Young behold
Old Man hardly feels
Until its light
Fell like a strain of music on his soul
Unknown modes of being which on earth
Combinations, bound
Knowledge that I live
In clearer air ascending, shewed far off
Near the door I saw an aged man
Guess he had no thought
Dappled his face. With thirsty heat oppressed
I hailed him, glad to see his hat
Kindred birth
Waters till we seemed to feel
And I. For them a bond
Day the touch of human hand

(taken from Seamus Heaney’s selection of Wordsworth)

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