tranquil as a dreamless sleep.’ The experience leaves the speaker with a profound sense of wellbeing, the kind of feeling we all get having spent time doing something that we love.
This is a poem other poets love. Seamus Heaney even wrote a poem called ‘Wordsworth’s Skates’:
Star in the window. Slate scrape. Bird or branch?
Or the whet and scud of steel on placid ice?
Not the bootless runners lying toppled In dust in a display case, Their bindings perished,
But the reel of them on frozen Windermere As he flashed from the clutch of earth along its curve And left it scored.
