Is William Wordsworth Ia Poet of Nature
Is William Wordsworth Ia Poet of Nature
Is William Wordsworth Ia Poet of Nature
The speaker begins by declaring that there was a time when nature seemed
mystical to him, like a dream, "Apparelled in celestial light." But now all of
that is gone. No matter what he does, "The things which I have seen I now
can see no more."
In the second stanza the speaker says that even though he can still see the
rainbow, the rose, the moon, and the sun, and even though they are still
beautiful, something is different...something has been lost: "But yet I know,
where'er I go, / That there hath past away a glory from the earth." The
speaker is saddened by the birds singing and the lambs jumping in the third
stanza. Soon, however, he resolves not to be depressed, because it will only
put a damper on the beauty of the season. He declares that all of the earth is
happy, and exhorts the shepherd boy to shout.
In the fourth stanza the speaker continues to be a part of the joy of the season,
saying that it would be wrong to be "sullen / While Earth herself in adorning,
/ And the Children are culling / On every side, / In a thousand valleys far and
wide." However, when he sees a tree, a field, and later a pansy at his feet,
they again give him a strong feeling that something is amiss. He asks,
"Whither is fled the visionary gleam? / Where is it now, the glory and the
dream?"
The fifth stanza contains arguably the most famous line of the poem: "Our
birth is but a sleep and a forgetting." He goes on to say that as infants we
have some memory of heaven, but as we grow we lose that connection:
"Heaven lies about us in our infancy!" As children this connection with
heaven causes us to experience nature's glory more clearly. Once we are
grown, the connection is lost. In the sixth stanza, the speaker says that as
soon as we get to earth, everything conspires to help us forget the place we
came from: heaven. "Forget the glories he hath known, and that imperial
palace whence he came."
In the seventh stanza the speaker sees (or imagines) a six-year-old boy, and
foresees the rest of his life. He says that the child will learn from his
experiences, but that he will spend most of his effort on imitation: "And with
new joy and pride / The little Actor cons another part." It seems to the
speaker that his whole life will essentially be "endless imitation." In the
eighth stanza the speaker speaks directly to the child, calling him a
philosopher. The speaker cannot understand why the child, who is so close to
heaven in his youth, would rush to grow into an adult. He asks him, "Why
with such earnest pains dost thou provoke / The years to bring the inevitable
yoke, / Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?" In the ninth stanza
(which is the longest at 38 lines) the speaker experiences a flood of joy when
he realizes that through memory he will always be able to connect to his
childhood, and through his childhood to nature.