Poet's corner

"...So through the darkness and the cold we flew,

And not a voice was idle. With the din,

Meanwhile, the precipices rang aloud;

The leafless trees and every icy crag

Tinkled like iron; while the distant hills

Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars,

Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west

The orange sky of evening died away."

William Wordsworth

Ice-skating

from The Prelude