Quick-flowing creamy light and all cohering:
Faux fanes in gardens, Nash and Wesley’s shades,
Gold, gaily weighty houses, rocketing sky,
And open hillside turning as I turn,
All witnessed through ancestral engineering,
Small canny bones and inward fine parades
We had no part in, choiceless ear and eye
Meting out pleasure I could never earn.
This poem really does evoke the creamy Georgian terraces of Bath, in Somerset.
Poetry Atlas has other poems about Bath.
This poem first published in The Spectator.
Copyright Kieron Winn
Read more about Kieron and get his latest collection of poems at www.kieronwinn.com.
Terraced houses of Bath stone, typical of the town, with the cathedral in the background