my heart leaps up when I behold

almost any valley or village in

the    embrace of US eighty-nine

from White River to Lake Champlain

I am less affected by rainbows    they are

handsome and fade into the damp sky

just ahead of the car

the children who are glad for

such beauty can now call out

look    look a rainbow    they never say

oh see the town    South Royalton

moving fast behind us    hugged

by the White River itself and

what about the splendid hills

of Sharon flattening into

hopeful farms    and then finally the drive

the drive downhill into our great city

Burlington    Lake Champlain rises up

before your eyes    then lies down to

accommodate the New York shore

I am with Wordsworth on most other

high perceptions    I must admit

to sharing his breathless hope

for a long life    still it is

too late    I am old already    that

prayer taken care of by health

and inheritance    still that long

curling highway made me think

of my leaping heart and then of

Wordsworth who with a couple

of other poets first taught

my heart to leap