This is a Poem written by Wordsworth which I consider to be one of the best from Him.Look at the way he symbolises things.It has two parts.The first part deals with the scenic beauty of the place and the second part deals with what life is.How teh place has been alwayz been within his memory and how it inspired him to enjoy the ultimate happiness.The second part makes me feel way he would have.I always start relating to such a place where I had been in my childhood days.But this poem had left a mark in me when I had gone through it in my 12th.Glad dat we had it in our course den.
Lines Composed a Few Miles above
Tintern Abbey
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
on revisting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour,July 13,1798
Five years have past: five summers, with the length
Of five long winter ! 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 quite 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, sensation 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 quite by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
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