Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak,
  When hitherward we journeyed, side by side,
  Through burst of sunshine and through flying showers,
  Paced the long vales, how long they were, and yet
  How fast that length of way was left behind, 5
  Wensley’s rich vale and Sedbergh’s naked heights. 
  The frosty wind, as if to make amends
  For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps,
  And drove us onward like two ships at sea;
  Or, like two birds, companions in mid-air, 10
  Parted and reunited by the blast. 
  Stern was the face of nature; we rejoiced
  In that stern countenance; for our souls thence drew
  A feeling of their strength.  The naked trees,
  The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared 15
  To question us, “Whence come ye?  To what end?”

This poem refers to a winter journey on foot, which Wordsworth and his sister took from Sockburn to Grasmere, by Wensleydale and Askrigg; and, since he has left us an account of this journey, in a letter to Coleridge, written a few days after their arrival at Grasmere—­a letter in which his characterisation of Nature is almost as happy as it is in his best poems—­some extracts from it may here be appended.

“We left Sockburn last Tuesday morning.  We crossed the Tees by moonlight in the Sockburn fields, and after ten good miles riding came in sight of the Swale.  It is there a beautiful river, with its green banks and flat holms scattered over with trees.  Four miles further brought us to Richmond, with its huge ivied castle, its friarage steeple, its castle tower resembling a huge steeple....  We were now in Wensleydale, and D. and I set off side by side to foot it as far as Kendal....  We reached Askrigg, twelve miles, before six in the evening, having been obliged to walk the last two miles over hard frozen roads....  Next morning the earth was thinly covered with snow, enough to make the road soft and prevent its being slippery.  On leaving Askrigg we turned aside to see another waterfall.  It was a beautiful morning, with driving snow showers, which disappeared by fits, and unveiled the east, which was all one delicious pale orange colour.  After walking through two small fields we came to a mill, which we passed, and in a moment a sweet little valley opened before us, with an area of grassy ground, and a stream dashing over various laminae of black rocks close under a bank covered with firs; the bank and stream on our left, another woody bank on our right, and the flat meadow in front, from which, as at Buttermere, the stream had retired, as it were, to hide itself under the shade.  As we walked up this delightful valley we were tempted to look back perpetually on the stream, which reflected the orange lights of the morning among the gloomy rocks, with a brightness varying with the agitation of the current.  The steeple of Askrigg was between us and the east,