we can understand? Does it have a message that we can hear? Or are the sights of ice and rock, the sounds of wind and rain, nothing more than gibberish? In this poem by Wordsworth, he describes a journey through the Alps that he once made with his friend Robert Jones. Trekking from Switzerland into Italy, they wended their way through the Simplon Pass, huge peaks ringing the horizon. Nowadays, we can speed through in a car, but Wordsworth took his "slow" steps on a dirt track that dated back to the Middle Ages.
In this wilderness, everything seems unknown.
from Christopher Nield: The Epoch Times: The Antidote--Classic Poetry for Modern Life: A Reading of 'The Simplon Pass' by William Wordsworth
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