How I miss the lakes, the lakes
The becks, the tarns, the fells
The boots in hall the muscle aches
The pungent woodland smell.
How I miss the conifer, the yew and scented pine
The rugged peaks, the lofty hills
The valley's deep decline
How I miss the winter storms
The wind on Skiddaw's head
When snow alights the scafell heights
Adorns helvelyn's edge,
How I miss the peace, the peace
Of this vast glorious place
Where all my fares and worldly cares
Bide in a gentler pace.