|Snowdonia National Park is located in northern Wales. It was the first park in Wales to be so
designated. It's the third most visited National Park in England and Wales. Unlike national
parks in most other countries, parks in Britain are made up of both public and private
property. Over 26,000 people live within Snowdonia National Park, of whom, more than 60%
can speak at least some Welsh - the nature of which is different from any language in Europe
(except Breton, with which it shares a common heritage). Actor Anthony Hopkins, a native of
Wales, is a supporter of the park and was once president of the National Trust's "Snowdonia
Appeal," organized to raise needed funds. Snowdonia is a magical place, home to many
legends. Its stunningly beautiful landscapes and miles of ancient stone walls and hedgerows
combine to make Snowdonia a captivating and unique area.
|The Manor Farm by Edward Thomas
The rock-like mud unfroze a little, and rills
Ran and sparkled down each side of the road
Under the catkins wagging in the hedge.
But earth would have her sleep, in spite of the sun;
Nor did I value that thin gliding beam
More than a pretty February thing,
Till I came down to the old manor farm,
With church and yew trees opposite - in age
Its equals and in size. The church and yews
And farmhouse slept in a Sunday silentness.
The air raised not a straw. The farm roof,
With tiles duskily glowing, entertained
The mid-day sun, and up and down the roof
White pigeons nestled. There was no sound but one.
Three cart horses were looking over a gate
Through their forelocks, swishing their tails
Lazily against a solitary fly.
The winter's cheek flushed as if he had drained
Spring, summer and autumn at a draught
And smiled quietly. But 'twas not winter -
Rather a season of bliss unchangeable,
Wakened from manor farm where it had lain
Safe under tile and latch for many ages.
|Photos on this page are courtesy of: City Pictures, Daily Mail UK,
Pilotito, DaveOnFlickr, tarr3n at Wikitravel Shared, Snowdonia Guide
|Please don't use the "Send Page" feature of your
computer to send this page in an e-mail message or
document format. If you'd like to share it, please
just send the link. The link to this page is:
|A Plain Life by William Henry Davies
No idle gold - since this fine sun, my friend,
Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend.
No precious stones - since these green mornings show,
Without a charge, their pearls where'er I go.
No leather books - since birds with their sweet tongues
Will read aloud to me their happier songs.
No painted scenes - since clouds can change their skies
A hundred times a day to please my eyes.
No surplus clothes - since every simple beast
Can teach me to be happy with the least.
|The Village by R. S. Thomas
Scarcely a street, too few houses
To merit the title, just a way between
The one tavern and the one shop
That leads nowhere and stops at the top
Of the short hill - eaten away
By the erosion of the green tide
Of grass creeping perpetually nearer
This last outpost of time past.
|A Blackbird Singing by R. S. Thomas
You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn away
From its work by the sweet disturbance
Of a mild evening outside your room.
A slow singer, loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned in other orchards
And passed on as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.