William Wordsworth was one of those poets with a skill, who also liked to walk. One day, at noon, he ambled along a narrow lane thinking of his past. I came upon his poem some hours after I took a five kilometre walk with Godbrother Gaura. It's called, "Sweet Was the Walk."
Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
At noon, the bank and hedge-rows all the way
Shagged with wild pale green tufts of fragrant hay,
Caught by the hawthorns from the loaded wain,9
Which Age with many a slow stoop strove to gain;
And childhood, seeming still most busy, took
His little rake; with cunning side-long look,
Sauntering to pluck the strawberries wild, unseen.
Now, too, on melancholy’s idle dreams
Musing, the lone spot with my soul agrees,
Quiet and dark; for through the thick wove trees
Scarce peeps the curious star till solemn gleams
The clouded moon, and calls me forth to stray
Thro’ tall, green, silent woods and ruins grey.
From what I know, Wordsworth was on a solo walk, whereas my companion, Gaura, and I did a duet. It was sweet nevertheless. Our walk was completed with a tall slender glass of lemon water and maple syrup, complete with ice cubes / on the rocks. Also sweet.