I did not think just then about the end
That we too would   struck by time and place
As we stood in ruined Abbey’s ground

Underneath the cliff, the swishing sounds
The waves all riding,dying in the race
I did not think just then about the end

From the sky  did love like rain descend
As I yielded to your  piercing gaze?
Then we stood in ruined Abbey’s ground

Your heart was   in the hills,my honey found.
Not even Africa itself would this erase
I did not think just then about the end

Now I see the shadow and the mound
Now I grieve for want of your dear face
Like when we  loved in Whitby Abbey’s grounds

In the  child’s loved landscapes, self is made
May nothing spoil such worship nor degrade
I did not think just then about the end
I stand in reverie  on holy ground.

Like the water  in a mountain stream
In flood it drowns  the weak and  very young
In drought we can explore its bed  and dream

The limestone around Alston’s very clean
And in the little river stones are flung
It’s  water  in a new born mountain stream

Dry  river beds in Teesdale are  pristine
The dark hills threaten  as they overhang
In drought, we can explore, find stones  and dream

But much of  Pennine land remains unseen
The  steepness,wildness ,blackness darkly sing
Like the  currents  in a flung down stream

In rare heat, bare feet are river clean
The hot stones make a flat seat on the bank
In drought, we can explore or  view the scene

In  love the mind will savour and then thank
The world of nature into which it sank
Unlike the water  in a mountain stream
If our mind runs slower  it better dreams