The fells are jagged in the shining air; the wind
Sharpens itself like a knife on the rough edges;
The sky is blue as ice, and clouds from the sea
Splinter above the land
And drive against the rocks in thin steel wedges.
This of all England is the place to remember Grieg:
Here where the Norsemen foraged down the dales,
Crossing the sea with migrant redwing,
Thieving heifer and yow and teg,
Leaving their names scotched on the flanks of the hills.
Leaving also the crackling northern tongues,
The dialect crisp with the click of the wind
In the thorns of a wintry dyke,
So that Solvieg sings
In the words which bind the homes of Cumberland.
Therefore let Solvieg sing in the western dales
When the frost is on the pikes, and the raven builds again
Its next in February; let Crinkle Crags
Be thumped by the humpbacked trolls,
And the voice of Grieg ring loud through the sound of the
sea and the rain.
(Norman Nicholson)
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Based on Topics: Place Poems, England PoemsBased on Keywords: thumped, trolls, wedges, migrant, cumberland, sharpens, redwing, norsemen, crinkle, humpbacked, foraged