I collected some crisp packets from a place I went to at the weekend. They were just dropped by litter droppers. That doesn't seem so bad - I just don't understand how people who profess to worship nature (or some paganish variation) can leave all that tat at the swallowhead springs.
I have a temple I do notVisit, a heart I have forgot,
A self that I have never met,
A secret shrine -- and yet, and yet.
From the poem Expectans Expectavi by Charles Hamilton Sorley (1895-1915).
Just noticed his other poem on Barbary Castle that you mention at http://www.themodernantiquarian.com/post/40747 Do you mind if I stick it on the Megalithic Poems thread at some time?