“I stood at the window beholding
Mountain and lake and vale; the valley disrobed of its verdure;
Derwent, retaining yet from eve a glassy reflection
Where his expanded breast, then still and smooth as a mirror,
Under the woods reposed; the hills that calm and majestic
Lifted their heads into the silent sky, from far Glaramara,
Bleacrag, and Maidenmawr to Grisedal and westernmost Wython,
Dark and distinct they rose. The clouds had gathered above them
High in the middle air, huge purple pillowy masses,
While in the West beyond was the last pale tint of the twilight,