Keats country?

Minus four at 8am. Snow still crunchy on the ground and bright sunshine. Ice on the animals' water bowls.



A happy couple of hours were passed in the sunshine of Christmas Eve in the woods between Carmine and Cannero, at the laghetto, attempting (operative word) to sail a boat.

This beautiful and strangely silent place in winter always reminds me of the opening lines of Keats's 'La Belle Dame sans Merci' :

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge is wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

And for my Italian-speaking friends...

Che cosa ti tormenta, armato cavaliere
che indugi solo e pallido?
Di già appassite son le cipree del lago
e non cantan gli uccelli.

Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.