Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.--Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration:--feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,--
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft--
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart--
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.--I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels 0
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence--wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey is about William Wordsworth, and his longing to return to this special place a few miles above Tintern Abbey which he absolutely adores. We can see he has been away from this place for five years, and he always thinks about this magical place with its steep lofty cliffs and its beautiful scenery. He loves the mountain cliffs and springs. He loves the quiet, it gives him a chance to stop and think; seclusion.
In the first stanza, Wordsworth talks about how 5 years have passed since he visited this magical place. He longs to visit the waters from the mountain springs, to hear their soft inland murmur. He wants to see the steep and lofty cliffs that rise up from the ground. He talks about how the day has come when he will return to this wonderful spot. He loves the way that the cottages are, “Mid groves and copses; these pastoral farms, green to the very door.” He loves the way that the greenery goes up to the very doors of the little cottages, and also the way that the wreaths of smoke from the fires in the cottages are sent up in silence from among the trees.
William then goes on in the second stanza to explain how he has longed to return to this place. He has had a long absence from these ‘beauteous forms’. He says how amidst the stress and noise of towns and cities, in hours of weariness, he has only to think about this wonderful place, and he is immediately refreshed.
The third stanza is about how his heart is lightened with the thoughts of this place. He talks about how when he thinks about this place, all the weary weight of this unintelligible world is lifted from him. He is being lead by his affections for this place, and it is affecting how he thinks and acts.
He then talks in the fourth stanza about how this place is like daylight in the darkness of the world. When he can stand the world no longer, he turns his thought to the place he loves. He talks about how he often turns his spirit to this wondrous place, and the repetition of ‘spirit; turned to thee’ emphasises that this beautiful area is incredibly important to him, it always refreshes him.
The fifth stanza is talks about the pleasures he had when he went there, the pictures his mind revives in times of sadness. He came over the hills, and bounded over the mountains. By the sides of the deep rivers and the lonely streams, wherever nature led him. This shows that this young man is entranced by the beauty of nature, it is almost too much for him to take onboard all at once. He ran from the city, he hates it, all noisy and horrible. He would rather have the blue sky and the images of nature. Wordsworth would rather have the beautiful things of nature than anything that man could make.
The last stanza talks about how he would love to take his dear friend along, his sister. He longs to take his sister to this wonderful place, he loves his sister very much, and wants her to experience the joy and happiness of this place, a few miles above Tintern Abbey. The last stanza has a somewhat sadder tone as it talks about how he would love to take his sister to this wonderful area, to show her the same wonderful things that he himself enjoys.
Wordsworth contrasts his reaction to nature when he was a young man to when he was an old man. When he returns to this beautiful place, he finds that his “coarser pleasures of his boyish days” are over. William loves this place so dearly, he calls it the “guardian of my heart”, it keeps him sane during the times away from it, he just has to think about this place and his heart is refreshed.
Wordsworth finds that when he is stressed out or worried, he just has to think about this beautiful place, and all his worries disappear, he finds himself day dreaming about this wonderful place. Wordsworth uses a number of alliterations to emphasise how much he loves this little area that he loves to go to. Sensations sweet. This shows how he thinks about it when he is stressed, and his thoughts refresh him, because he remembers what it was like. Weary weight. This emphasises how depressing the cities and towns that he is in are, and how he longs to free himself from these towns and return to the country, where he loves.
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.--Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration:--feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,--
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft--
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart--
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.--I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels 0
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence--wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey is about William Wordsworth, and his longing to return to this special place a few miles above Tintern Abbey which he absolutely adores. We can see he has been away from this place for five years, and he always thinks about this magical place with its steep lofty cliffs and its beautiful scenery. He loves the mountain cliffs and springs. He loves the quiet, it gives him a chance to stop and think; seclusion.
In the first stanza, Wordsworth talks about how 5 years have passed since he visited this magical place. He longs to visit the waters from the mountain springs, to hear their soft inland murmur. He wants to see the steep and lofty cliffs that rise up from the ground. He talks about how the day has come when he will return to this wonderful spot. He loves the way that the cottages are, “Mid groves and copses; these pastoral farms, green to the very door.” He loves the way that the greenery goes up to the very doors of the little cottages, and also the way that the wreaths of smoke from the fires in the cottages are sent up in silence from among the trees.
William then goes on in the second stanza to explain how he has longed to return to this place. He has had a long absence from these ‘beauteous forms’. He says how amidst the stress and noise of towns and cities, in hours of weariness, he has only to think about this wonderful place, and he is immediately refreshed.
The third stanza is about how his heart is lightened with the thoughts of this place. He talks about how when he thinks about this place, all the weary weight of this unintelligible world is lifted from him. He is being lead by his affections for this place, and it is affecting how he thinks and acts.
He then talks in the fourth stanza about how this place is like daylight in the darkness of the world. When he can stand the world no longer, he turns his thought to the place he loves. He talks about how he often turns his spirit to this wondrous place, and the repetition of ‘spirit; turned to thee’ emphasises that this beautiful area is incredibly important to him, it always refreshes him.
The fifth stanza is talks about the pleasures he had when he went there, the pictures his mind revives in times of sadness. He came over the hills, and bounded over the mountains. By the sides of the deep rivers and the lonely streams, wherever nature led him. This shows that this young man is entranced by the beauty of nature, it is almost too much for him to take onboard all at once. He ran from the city, he hates it, all noisy and horrible. He would rather have the blue sky and the images of nature. Wordsworth would rather have the beautiful things of nature than anything that man could make.
The last stanza talks about how he would love to take his dear friend along, his sister. He longs to take his sister to this wonderful place, he loves his sister very much, and wants her to experience the joy and happiness of this place, a few miles above Tintern Abbey. The last stanza has a somewhat sadder tone as it talks about how he would love to take his sister to this wonderful area, to show her the same wonderful things that he himself enjoys.
Wordsworth contrasts his reaction to nature when he was a young man to when he was an old man. When he returns to this beautiful place, he finds that his “coarser pleasures of his boyish days” are over. William loves this place so dearly, he calls it the “guardian of my heart”, it keeps him sane during the times away from it, he just has to think about this place and his heart is refreshed.
Wordsworth finds that when he is stressed out or worried, he just has to think about this beautiful place, and all his worries disappear, he finds himself day dreaming about this wonderful place. Wordsworth uses a number of alliterations to emphasise how much he loves this little area that he loves to go to. Sensations sweet. This shows how he thinks about it when he is stressed, and his thoughts refresh him, because he remembers what it was like. Weary weight. This emphasises how depressing the cities and towns that he is in are, and how he longs to free himself from these towns and return to the country, where he loves.
