Lancaut

Lancaut

Lines written a few miles below Tintern Abbey

This is not a place for people

To romp about in.

We must wander quietly by the Wye

On sufferance.

Lancaut does not belong to us

But to the river.   

The sheep and the crows are

At home here, and we intrude.

The heron looks and thinks and has second thoughts,

Then decides he really ought to fly,

To a rendez-vous up-river Monmouth way,

Though he really shouldn’t have promised to go,

But he sighs and lazily takes off and slowly flaps

Along his flight path northwards

A foot or so above the flowing runway of the Wye.

We intrude, so go softly past

The chapel of St James,

A ruin now,

Just four walls with windows,

The gables still stand proudly high.

Here hymns used to ring up to the roof,

Long since fallen in,

And villagers would come by horse, or by boat

If the tides of the Wye were good.

Now silence rules; no hymns, no psalms,

No mumbled responses,

No yawns in the sermon that did go on,

And on.

There is a seat upon the hill

Above the chapel and the stile

And sitting there you can see heaven

If you just stop and rest a while.