Spurred by a recent comment of mine, Ms. Melancholy and her spouse walked at Easter in some of the finest country in England – the Craven hills - and took some smashing pics. Her delightful blog and resulting comment thread about this brought back nostalgic memories of my own many happy times among the windswept Pennines, and this provides a splendid opportunity to post one of my favourite poems in the burrow. A.E. Housman wrote this about his beloved Shropshire, but for each of us it evokes our own personal ‘lands of lost content’:
“Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
“That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.”
