When the days come . . .
Posted by:
grahjill (---.range81-152.btcentralplus.com)
Date: January 17, 2022 04:55PM
Does anyone know the following poem read at a friend's funeral
Title & Author Unknown
Does Anyone Know the Title or Author Please?
When the days come that I must live alone
in my own thoughts, and when my eyes are dimmed
and cannot see the shadows on the hills
cast by the clouds, and when I cannot hear
the far off sounds of hurrying streams and sheep -
Then I will turn my mind to those great days
I spent upon the fells.
I will count them over one by one, and treasure them
as jewels that no-one can take from me.
Days when I climbed among the lowering clouds,
and saw the mist come swirling up like steam;
its flying streamers passing me so near,
I felt their ghostly fingers on my face.
I will remember seeing through the clouds,
drawn sudden back, as curtains at the play,
a distant lake, a valley brightly green,
a glittering torrent down a mountain stream,
just glimp'st before 'twas blotted out again.
Days when the sun was hot on rock and heath,
and I could lie far up upon some ledge,
hearing below the sad incessant voices of the Dales.
And I will dream of little mountain flowers,
the Butterwort with slender purple blooms,
the Sundew sticky with its catch of flies
the spongy mosses green and rusty red,
the cotton grasses waving silken plumes,
beside some lonely tarn high in the hills.
The feel of clothes drenched by the stinging shower,
I will remember rain and bitter winds,
teas at a wayside inn with some good friends,
hot baths and fires for tired limbs,
and all the loveliness of home and rest.
And while I think of all those joyous days,
of all the heights I've gained and hours I've loved,
I will not envy those who take their turn
in tramping manfully in storm or fine,
the hills I know, for they are part of me;
A heritage of beauty naught can spoil.
grahjill