William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early hildhood (1807)

The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
(Wordsworth, "My eart !eaps "p"#
$There was a time when meadow, %ro&e, and stream,
' The earth, and e&ery common si%ht,
( To me did seem
) Apparelled in celestial li%ht,
* The %lory and the freshness of a dream.
+It is not now as it hath been of yore;,,
- Turn wheresoe.er I may,
/ By ni%ht or day.
0The thin%s which I ha&e seen I now can see no more.
$1 The 2ainbow comes and %oes,
$$ And lo&ely is the 2ose,
$' The Moon doth with deli%ht
$( !oo3 round her when the hea&ens are bare,
$) Waters on a starry ni%ht
$* Are beautiful and fair;
$+ The sunshine is a %lorious birth;
$- But yet I 3now, where.er I %o,
$/That there hath past away a %lory from the earth.
$04ow, while the birds thus sin% a 5oyous son%,
'1 And while the youn% lambs bound
'$ As to the tabor.s sound,
''To me alone there came a thou%ht of %rief6
'(A timely utterance %a&e that thou%ht relief,
') And I a%ain am stron%6
'*The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
'+4o more shall %rief of mine the season wron%;
'-I hear the 7choes throu%h the mountains thron%,
'/ The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
'0 And all the earth is %ay;
(1 !and and sea
($ 8i&e themsel&es up to 5ollity,
(' And with the heart of May
(( 9oth e&ery Beast 3eep holiday;,,
() Thou :hild of ;oy,
(*<hout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
<hepherd,boy.
(+=e bless>d creatures, I ha&e heard the call
(- =e to each other ma3e; I see
(/The hea&ens lau%h with you in your 5ubilee;
(0 My heart is at your festi&al,
)1 My head hath its coronal,
)$The fulness of your bliss, I feel,,I feel it all.
)' ?h e&il day@ if I were sullen
)( While 7arth herself is adornin%,
)) This sweet May,mornin%,
)* And the :hildren are cullin%
)+ ?n e&ery side,
)- In a thousand &alleys far and wide,
)/ Aresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
)0And the Babe leaps up on his Mother.s arm6,,
*1 I hear, I hear, with 5oy I hear@
*$ ,,But there.s a Tree, of many, one,
*'A sin%le field which I ha&e loo3ed upon,
*(Both of them spea3 of somethin% that is %one;
*) The Bansy at my feet
** 9oth the same tale repeat6
*+Whither is fled the &isionary %leamC
*-Where is it now, the %lory and the dreamC
1
*/?ur birth is but a sleep and a for%ettin%6
*0The <oul that rises with us, our life.s <tar,
+1 ath had elsewhere its settin%,
+$ And cometh from afar6
+' 4ot in entire for%etfulness,
+( And not in utter na3edness,
+)But trailin% clouds of %lory do we come
+* Arom 8od, who is our home6
++ea&en lies about us in our infancy@
+-<hades of the prison,house be%in to close
+/ "pon the %rowin% Boy,
+0But he beholds the li%ht, and whence it flows,
-1 e sees it in his 5oy;
-$The =outh, who daily farther from the east
-' Must tra&el, still is 4ature.s Briest,
-( And by the &ision splendid
-) Is on his way attended;
-*At len%th the Man percei&es it die away,
-+And fade into the li%ht of common day.
--7arth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
-/=earnin%s she hath in her own natural 3ind,
-0And, e&en with somethin% of a Mother.s mind,
/1 And no unworthy aim,
/$ The homely 4urse doth all she can
/'To ma3e her Aoster,child, her Inmate Man,
/( Aor%et the %lories he hath 3nown,
/)And that imperial palace whence he came.
/*Behold the :hild amon% his new,born blisses,
/+A siD years. 9arlin% of a pi%my siEe@
/-<ee, where .mid wor3 of his own hand he lies,
//Aretted by sallies of his mother.s 3isses,
/0With li%ht upon him from his father.s eyes@
01<ee, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
0$<ome fra%ment from his dream of human life,
0'<haped by himself with newly,learnFGeHd art
0( A weddin% or a festi&al,
0) A mournin% or a funeral;
0* And this hath now his heart,
0+ And unto this he frames his son%6
0- Then will he fit his ton%ue
0/To dialo%ues of business, lo&e, or strife;
00 But it will not be lon%
$11 7re this be thrown aside,
$1$ And with new 5oy and pride
$1'The little Actor cons another part;
$1(Aillin% from time to time his "humorous sta%e"
$1)With all the Bersons, down to palsied A%e,
$1*That !ife brin%s with her in her eIuipa%e;
$1+ As if his whole &ocation
$1- Were endless imitation.
$1/Thou, whose eDterior semblance doth belie
$10 Thy <oul.s immensity;
$$1Thou best Bhilosopher, who yet dost 3eep
$$$Thy herita%e, thou 7ye amon% the blind,
$$'That, deaf and silent, read.st the eternal deep,
$$(aunted for e&er by the eternal mind,,,
$$) Mi%hty Brophet@ <eer blest@
$$* ?n whom those truths do rest,
$$+Which we are toilin% all our li&es to find,
$$-In dar3ness lost, the dar3ness of the %ra&e;
$$/Thou, o&er whom thy Immortality
$$0Broods li3e the 9ay, a Master o.er a <la&e,
$'1A Bresence which is not to be put by;
$'$Thou little :hild, yet %lorious in the mi%ht
$''?f hea&en,born freedom on thy bein%.s hei%ht,
$'(Why with such earnest pains dost thou pro&o3e
$')The years to brin% the ine&itable yo3e,
$'*Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strifeC
$'+Aull soon thy <oul shall ha&e her earthly frei%ht,
$'-And custom lie upon thee with a wei%ht,
$'/ea&y as frost, and deep almost as life@
$'0 ? 5oy@ that in our embers
$(1 Is somethin% that doth li&e,
$($ That 4ature yet remembers
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$('What was so fu%iti&e@
$((The thou%ht of our past years in me doth breed
$()Berpetual benediction6 not indeed
$(*Aor that which is most worthy to be blest;
$(+9eli%ht and liberty, the simple creed
$(-?f :hildhood, whether busy or at rest,
$(/With new,fled%ed hope still flutterin% in his breast6,,
$(0 4ot for these I raise
$)1 The son% of than3s and praise
$)$ But for those obstinate Iuestionin%s
$)' ?f sense and outward thin%s,
$)( Aallin%s from us, &anishin%s;
$)) Blan3 mis%i&in%s of a :reature
$)*Mo&in% about in worlds not realised,
$)+i%h instincts before which our mortal 4ature
$)-9id tremble li3e a %uilty thin% surprised6
$)/ But for those first affections,
$)0 Those shadowy recollections,
$*1 Which, be they what they may
$*$Are yet the fountain,li%ht of all our day,
$*'Are yet a master,li%ht of all our seein%;
$*( "phold us, cherish, and ha&e power to ma3e
$*)?ur noisy years seem moments in the bein%
$**?f the eternal <ilence6 truths that wa3e,
$*+ To perish ne&er;
$*-Which neither listlessness, nor mad endea&our,
$*/ 4or Man nor Boy,
$*04or all that is at enmity with 5oy,
$+1:an utterly abolish or destroy@
$+$ ence in a season of calm weather
$+' Thou%h inland far we be,
$+(?ur <ouls ha&e si%ht of that immortal sea
$+) Which brou%ht us hither,
$+* :an in a moment tra&el thither,
$++And see the :hildren sport upon the shore,
$+-And hear the mi%hty waters rollin% e&ermore.
$+/Then sin%, ye Birds, sin%, sin% a 5oyous son%@
$+0 And let the youn% !ambs bound
$-1 As to the tabor.s sound@
$-$We in thou%ht will 5oin your thron%,
$-' =e that pipe and ye that play,
$-( =e that throu%h your hearts to,day
$-) Aeel the %ladness of the May@
$-*What thou%h the radiance which was once so bri%ht
$-+Be now for e&er ta3en from my si%ht,
$-- Thou%h nothin% can brin% bac3 the hour
$-/?f splendour in the %rass, of %lory in the flower;
$-0 We will %rie&e not, rather find
$/1 <tren%th in what remains behind;
$/$ In the primal sympathy
$/' Which ha&in% been must e&er be;
$/( In the soothin% thou%hts that sprin%
$/) ?ut of human sufferin%;
$/* In the faith that loo3s throu%h death,
$/+In years that brin% the philosophic mind.
$/-And ?, ye Aountains, Meadows, ills, and 8ro&es,
$//Aorebode not any se&erin% of our lo&es@
$/0=et in my heart of hearts I feel your mi%ht;
$01I only ha&e relinIuished one deli%ht
$0$To li&e beneath your more habitual sway.
$0'I lo&e the Broo3s which down their channels fret,
$0(7&en more than when I tripped li%htly as they;
$0)The innocent bri%htness of a new,born 9ay
$0* Is lo&ely yet;
$0+The :louds that %ather round the settin% sun
$0-9o ta3e a sober colourin% from an eye
$0/That hath 3ept watch o.er man.s mortality;
$00Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
'11Than3s to the human heart by which we li&e,
'1$Than3s to its tenderness, its 5oys, and fears,
'1'To me the meanest flower that blows can %i&e
'1(Thou%hts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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!ines om"osed a #ew $iles a%o&e 'intern (%%ey) On Re&isitin* the +an,s of the Wye d-rin* a 'o-r. /-ly 10) 1718
$Ai&e years ha&e past; fi&e summers, with the len%th
'?f fi&e lon% winters@ and a%ain I hear
(These waters, rollin% from their mountain,sprin%s
)With a soft inland murmur.,,?nce a%ain
*9o I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
+That on a wild secluded scene impress
-Thou%hts of more deep seclusion; and connect
/The landscape with the Iuiet of the s3y.
0The day is come when I a%ain repose
$1ere, under this dar3 sycamore, and &iew
$$These plots of cotta%e,%round, these orchard,tufts,
$'Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
$(Are clad in one %reen hue, and lose themsel&es
$).Mid %ro&es and copses. ?nce a%ain I see
$*These hed%e,rows, hardly hed%e,rows, little lines
$+?f sporti&e wood run wild6 these pastoral farms,
$-8reen to the &ery door; and wreaths of smo3e
$/<ent up, in silence, from amon% the trees@
$0With some uncertain notice, as mi%ht seem
'1?f &a%rant dwellers in the houseless woods,
'$?r of some ermit.s ca&e, where by his fire
''The ermit sits alone.
'' These beauteous forms,
'(Throu%h a lon% absence, ha&e not been to me
')As is a landscape to a blind man.s eye6
'*But oft, in lonely rooms, and .mid the din
'+?f towns and cities, I ha&e owed to them,
'-In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
'/Aelt in the blood, and felt alon% the heart;
'0And passin% e&en into my purer mind
(1With tranIuil restoration6,,feelin%s too
($?f unremembered pleasure6 such, perhaps,
('As ha&e no sli%ht or tri&ial influence
((?n that best portion of a %ood man.s life,
()is little, nameless, unremembered, acts
(*?f 3indness and of lo&e. 4or less, I trust,
(+To them I may ha&e owed another %ift,
(-?f aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
(/In which the burthen of the mystery,
(0In which the hea&y and the weary wei%ht
)1?f all this unintelli%ible world,
)$Is li%htened6,,that serene and blessed mood,
)'In which the affections %ently lead us on,,,
)("ntil, the breath of this corporeal frame
))And e&en the motion of our human blood
)*Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
)+In body, and become a li&in% soul6
)-While with an eye made Iuiet by the power
)/?f harmony, and the deep power of 5oy,
)0We see into the life of thin%s.
)0 If this
*1Be but a &ain belief, yet, oh@ how oft,,
*$In dar3ness and amid the many shapes
*'?f 5oyless dayli%ht; when the fretful stir
*("nprofitable, and the fe&er of the world,
*)a&e hun% upon the beatin%s of my heart,,
**ow oft, in spirit, ha&e I turned to thee,
*+? syl&an Wye@ thou wanderer thro. the woods,
*- ow often has my spirit turned to thee@
*/ And now, with %leams of half,eDtin%uished thou%ht,
*0With many reco%nitions dim and faint,
+1And somewhat of a sad perpleDity,
+$The picture of the mind re&i&es a%ain6
+'While here I stand, not only with the sense
+(?f present pleasure, but with pleasin% thou%hts
+)That in this moment there is life and food
+*Aor future years. And so I dare to hope,
++Thou%h chan%ed, no doubt, from what I was when first
+-I came amon% these hills; when li3e a roe
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+/I bounded o.er the mountains, by the sides
+0?f the deep ri&ers, and the lonely streams,
-1Where&er nature led6 more li3e a man
-$Alyin% from somethin% that he dreads, than one
-'Who sou%ht the thin% he lo&ed. Aor nature then
-((The coarser pleasures of my boyish days
-)And their %lad animal mo&ements all %one by#
-*To me was all in all.,,I cannot paint
-+What then I was. The soundin% cataract
--aunted me li3e a passion6 the tall roc3,
-/The mountain, and the deep and %loomy wood,
-0Their colours and their forms, were then to me
/1An appetite; a feelin% and a lo&e,
/$That had no need of a remoter charm,
/'By thou%ht supplied, not any interest
/("nborrowed from the eye.,,That time is past,
/)And all its achin% 5oys are now no more,
/*And all its diEEy raptures. 4ot for this
/+Aaint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other %ifts
/-a&e followed; for such loss, I would belie&e,
//Abundant recompense. Aor I ha&e learned
/0To loo3 on nature, not as in the hour
01?f thou%htless youth; but hearin% oftentimes
0$The still sad music of humanity,
0'4or harsh nor %ratin%, thou%h of ample power
0(To chasten and subdue.,,And I ha&e felt
0)A presence that disturbs me with the 5oy
0*?f ele&ated thou%hts; a sense sublime
0+?f somethin% far more deeply interfused,
0-Whose dwellin% is the li%ht of settin% suns,
0/And the round ocean and the li&in% air,
00And the blue s3y, and in the mind of man6
$11A motion and a spirit, that impels
$1$All thin3in% thin%s, all ob5ects of all thou%ht,
$1'And rolls throu%h all thin%s. Therefore am I still
$1(A lo&er of the meadows and the woods
$1)And mountains; and of all that we behold
$1*Arom this %reen earth; of all the mi%hty world
$1+?f eye, and ear,,,both what they half create,
$1-And what percei&e; well pleased to reco%nise
$1/In nature and the lan%ua%e of the sense
$10The anchor of my purest thou%hts, the nurse,
$$1The %uide, the %uardian of my heart, and soul
$$$?f all my moral bein%.
$$$ 4or perchance,
$$'If I were not thus tau%ht, should I the more
$$(<uffer my %enial spirits to decay6
$$)Aor thou art with me here upon the ban3s
$$*?f this fair ri&er; thou my dearest Ariend,
$$+My dear, dear Ariend; and in thy &oice I catch
$$-The lan%ua%e of my former heart, and read
$$/My former pleasures in the shootin% li%hts
$$0?f thy wild eyes. ?h@ yet a little while
$'1May I behold in thee what I was once,
$'$My dear, dear <ister@ and this prayer I ma3e,
$''Jnowin% that 4ature ne&er did betray
$'(The heart that lo&ed her; .tis her pri&ile%e,
$')Throu%h all the years of this our life, to lead
$'*Arom 5oy to 5oy6 for she can so inform
$'+The mind that is within us, so impress
$'-With Iuietness and beauty, and so feed
$'/With lofty thou%hts, that neither e&il ton%ues,
$'02ash 5ud%ments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
$(14or %reetin%s where no 3indness is, nor all
$($The dreary intercourse of daily life,
$('<hall e.er pre&ail a%ainst us, or disturb
$((?ur cheerful faith, that all which we behold
$()Is full of blessin%s. Therefore let the moon
$(*<hine on thee in thy solitary wal3;
$(+And let the misty mountain,winds be free
$(-To blow a%ainst thee6 and, in after years,
$(/When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
$(0Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
$)1<hall be a mansion for all lo&ely forms,
$)$Thy memory be as a dwellin%,place
$)'Aor all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh@ then,
$)(If solitude, or fear, or pain, or %rief,
5
$))<hould be thy portion, with what healin% thou%hts
$)*?f tender 5oy wilt thou remember me,
$)+And these my eDhortations@ 4or, perchance,,
$)-If I should be where I no more can hear
$)/Thy &oice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these %leams
$)0?f past eDistence,,wilt thou then for%et
$*1That on the ban3s of this deli%htful stream
$*$We stood to%ether; and that I, so lon%
$*'A worshipper of 4ature, hither came
$*("nwearied in that ser&ice6 rather say
$*)With warmer lo&e,,oh@ with far deeper Eeal
$**?f holier lo&e. 4or wilt thou then for%et,
$*+That after many wanderin%s, many years
$*-?f absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
$*/And this %reen pastoral landscape, were to me
$*0More dear, both for themsel&es and for thy sa3e@
2otes
$K Airst published in $-0/, as the concludin% poem of Lyrical Ballads. :omposed on ;uly $(, $-0/, while Wordsworth and his sister were returnin%
by the &alley of the Wye, in south Wales, to Bristol after a wal3in% tour of se&eral days. "4ot a line of it was altered and not any part of it written
down till I reached Bristol." The poems planned for Lyrical Ballads were already in the hands of the printer in Bristol when Tintern Abbey, so
different in theme and style, was added to the &olume.
$*'K In a letter of $/$* to a friend, Wordsworth denied that he was "A worshipper of 4ature." e blamed the misunderstandin% on "A passionate
eDpression, uttered incautiously in the poem upon the Wye...."
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