. —It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame—
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;—or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And—with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep—
I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.—
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.
Notes
NOTES
Form:
unrhyming
Composition Date:
late 1798
1.
Composed in Germany late in 1798 and quoted by Dorothy Wordsworth in a
letter of December 21 (?). Wordsworth said that it was \
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Comments
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his desire for
From guest Lela (contact)
possible sensual nature to the poem? Granted, Wordsworth's romantic style would directly involve the beauty of nature and him being 'one' with it. using the comparison of virginity, pureness... 'sate' can also mean 'to satisfy an appetite' -- see the pun. Lusting after this pure sight, to become one with nature and take full advantage of it,and in doing so, ruining its purity and the beauty it once portrayed. Wordsworth's use of language to me is remarkable. The images are vivid and described with such love and admiration one can understand his relationship with nature. I've always pictured Wordsworth as a tree-hugger... not quite a mossy rock hugger - but whatever floats his boat.
this poem conveys his true love of nature... in true romantic style
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good stuff
He went to pick nuts and having found an untouched bower, sated himself and then looked upon the destruction his greed had caused.
Very allegorical. -
Nice. Fairly easy to follow and not overly wordy.
I can imagine Wordsworth as a young man being sent out by Mrs. Tyson. He is dressed in a disheveled fashion -- just because he wants to enjoy his "part" as a wandering, natural man. He is enjoying his trek through the woods when he comes upon a beautiful, untouched area. He cannot believe his luck and, if possible, is even more light-hearted and joyful over his find. It sounds like, though, that at some point he got up to leave and accidently brought down the house, so to speak, and ruined the previously virgin area. Then, I believe he decides to put aside the one bad incident (ruining the sheltered area he was in) and to instead exult in the richness of the experience he had while basking in the beauty...although it was difficult to do since his bower (arbor) was now open sky. -
THIS POEM DON'T HAVE PARTICULAR RHYME
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