The lake so wide upon the mount's short peak
and hill, or mound; that ancient strength long spent
where lords once sat, to rule on tallest seat
unseen; us lost to talk, in our descent.
Or bridge, the Cam to cross, at mountain's end
Mary's old scholar Lodge; or its named way.
Walking high above boats that punters tend
To take tourists along the town's fairways
The passage of two names, to widen out
Cobble and stone; a grandeur that I hate.
That place, I try always to mess about;
Brighten the mood, then quicken, don't be late.
O Duroliponte, your concrete heart
These bare stone steps, all your broken old parts.
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