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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540028" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Five years have past; five summers, with the length <br>Of five long winters! and again I hear <br>These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs <br>With a soft inland murmur.--Once again <br>Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, <br>That on a wild secluded scene impress <br>Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect <br>The landscape with the quiet of the sky. <br>The day is come when I again repose <br>Here, under this dark sycamore, and view <br>These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, <br>Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, <br>Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves <br>'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see <br>These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines <br>Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, <br>Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke <br>Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! <br>With some uncertain notice, as might seem <br>Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, <br>Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire <br>The Hermit sits alone. <br>These beauteous forms, <br>Through a long absence, have not been to me <br>As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: <br>But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din <br>Of towns and cities, I have owed to them <br>In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, <br>Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; <br>And passing even into my purer mind, <br>With tranquil restoration:--feelings too <br>Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, <br>As have no slight or trivial influence <br>On that best portion of a good man's life, <br>His little, nameless, unremembered, acts <br>Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, <br>To them I may have owed another gift, <br>Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, <br>In which the burthen of the mystery, <br>In which the heavy and the weary weight <br>Of all this unintelligible world, <br>Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood, <br>In which the affections gently lead us on,-- <br>Until, the breath of this corporeal frame <br>And even the motion of our human blood <br>Almost suspended, we are laid asleep <br>In body, and become a living soul: <br>While with an eye made quiet by the power <br>Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, <br>We see into the life of things. <br>If this <br>Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft-- <br>In darkness and amid the many shapes <br>Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir <br>Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, <br>Have hung upon the beatings of my heart-- <br>How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, <br>O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, <br>How often has my spirit turned to thee! <br>And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, <br>With many recognitions dim and faint, <br>And somewhat of a sad perplexity, <br>The picture of the mind revives again: <br>While here I stand, not only with the sense <br>Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts <br>That in this moment there is life and food <br>For future years. And so I dare to hope, <br>Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first <br>I came among these hills; when like a roe <br>I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides <br>Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, <br>Wherever nature led: more like a man <br>Flying from something that he dreads, than one <br>Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then <br>(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, <br>And their glad animal movements all gone by) <br>To me was all in all.--I cannot paint <br>What then I was. The sounding cataract <br>Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, <br>The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, <br>Their colours and their forms, were then to me <br>An appetite; a feeling and a love, <br>That had no need of a remoter charm, <br>By thought supplied, nor any interest <br>Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past, <br>And all its aching joys are now no more, <br>And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this <br>Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts <br>Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, <br>Abundant recompence. For I have learned <br>To look on nature, not as in the hour <br>Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes <br>The still, sad music of humanity, <br>Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power <br>To chasten and subdue. And I have felt <br>A presence that disturbs me with the joy <br>Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime <br>Of something far more deeply interfused, <br>Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, <br>And the round ocean and the living air, <br>And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; <br>A motion and a spirit, that impels 0 <br>All thinking things, all objects of all thought, <br>And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still <br>A lover of the meadows and the woods, <br>And mountains; and of all that we behold <br>From this green earth; of all the mighty world <br>Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create, <br>And what perceive; well pleased to recognise <br>In nature and the language of the sense, <br>The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, <br>The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul <br>Of all my moral being. <br>Nor perchance, <br>If I were not thus taught, should I the more <br>Suffer my genial spirits to decay: <br>For thou art with me here upon the banks <br>Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, <br>My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch <br>The language of my former heart, and read <br>My former pleasures in the shooting lights <br>Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while <br>May I behold in thee what I was once, <br>My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, <br>Knowing that Nature never did betray <br>The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, <br>Through all the years of this our life, to lead <br>From joy to joy: for she can so inform <br>The mind that is within us, so impress <br>With quietness and beauty, and so feed <br>With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, <br>Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, <br>Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all <br>The dreary intercourse of daily life, <br>Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb <br>Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold <br>Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon <br>Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; <br>And let the misty mountain-winds be free <br>To blow against thee: and, in after years, <br>When these wild ecstasies shall be matured <br>Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind <br>Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, <br>Thy memory be as a dwelling-place <br>For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, <br>If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, <br>Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts <br>Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, <br>And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance-- <br>If I should be where I no more can hear <br>Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams <br>Of past existence--wilt thou then forget <br>That on the banks of this delightful stream <br>We stood together; and that I, so long <br>A worshipper of Nature, hither came <br>Unwearied in that service: rather say <br>With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal <br>Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, <br>That after many wanderings, many years <br>Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, <br>And this green pastoral landscape, were to me <br>More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540028" data-title="Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey de William Wordsworth" data-description="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 seclu..."></div>
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