American Tourists, Sure Appreciators Of All That Is Ancient
And Picturesque In England, Invariably Come To A Halt, Holding
Their Breath In A Sudden Catch Of Wonder, As They Pass Through
The Half-Ruinous Gateway Which Admits To The Close Of
Wrychester. Nowhere Else In England Is There A Fairer
Prospect Of Old-World Peace. There Before Their Eyes, Set In
The Centre Of A Great Green Sward, Fringed By Tall Elms And
Giant Beeches, Rises The Vast Fabric Of The Thirteenth-Century
Cathedral, Its High Spire Piercing The Skies In Which Rooks
Are For Ever Circling And Calling.
And Picturesque In England, Invariably Come To A Halt, Holding
Their Breath In A Sudden Catch Of Wonder, As They Pass Through
The Half-Ruinous Gateway Which Admits To The Close Of
Wrychester. Nowhere Else In England Is There A Fairer
Prospect Of Old-World Peace. There Before Their Eyes, Set In
The Centre Of A Great Green Sward, Fringed By Tall Elms And
Giant Beeches, Rises The Vast Fabric Of The Thirteenth-Century
Cathedral, Its High Spire Piercing The Skies In Which Rooks
Are For Ever Circling And Calling.
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