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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540080" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, <br> The earth, and every common sight, <br> To me did seem <br> Apparell'd in celestial light, <br>The glory and the freshness of a dream. <br>It is not now as it hath been of yore;-- <br> Turn wheresoe'er I may, <br> By night or day, <br>The things which I have seen I now can see no more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The rainbow comes and goes, <br> And lovely is the rose; <br> The moon doth with delight <br> Look round her when the heavens are bare; <br> Waters on a starry night <br> Are beautiful and fair; <br> The sunshine is a glorious birth; <br> But yet I know, where'er I go, <br>That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, <br> And while the young lambs bound <br> As to the tabor's sound, <br>To me alone there came a thought of grief: <br>A timely utterance gave that thought relief, <br> And I again am strong: <br>The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; <br>No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; <br>I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, <br>The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, <br> And all the earth is gay; <br> Land and sea <br> Give themselves up to jollity, <br> And with the heart of May <br> Doth every beast keep holiday;-- <br> Thou Child of Joy, <br>Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy <br> Shepherd-boy! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call <br> Ye to each other make; I see <br>The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; <br> My heart is at your festival, <br> My head hath its coronal, <br>The fulness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all. <br> O evil day! if I were sullen <br> While Earth herself is adorning, <br> This sweet May-morning, <br> And the children are culling <br> On every side, <br> In a thousand valleys far and wide, <br> Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, <br>And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:-- <br> I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! <br> --But there's a tree, of many, one, <br>A single field which I have look'd upon, <br>Both of them speak of something that is gone: <br> The pansy at my feet <br> Doth the same tale repeat: <br>Whither is fled the visionary gleam? <br>Where is it now, the glory and the dream? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: <br>The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, <br> Hath had elsewhere its setting, <br> And cometh from afar: <br> Not in entire forgetfulness, <br> And not in utter nakedness, <br>But trailing clouds of glory do we come <br> From God, who is our home: <br>Heaven lies about us in our infancy! <br>Shades of the prison-house begin to close <br> Upon the growing Boy, <br>But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, <br> He sees it in his joy; <br>The Youth, who daily farther from the east <br> Must travel, still is Nature's priest, <br> And by the vision splendid <br> Is on his way attended; <br>At length the Man perceives it die away, <br>And fade into the light of common day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; <br>Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, <br>And, even with something of a mother's mind, <br> And no unworthy aim, <br> The homely nurse doth all she can <br>To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man, <br> Forget the glories he hath known, <br>And that imperial palace whence he came. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, <br>A six years' darling of a pigmy size! <br>See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, <br>Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, <br>With light upon him from his father's eyes! <br>See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, <br>Some fragment from his dream of human life, <br>Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; <br> A wedding or a festival, <br> A mourning or a funeral; <br> And this hath now his heart, <br> And unto this he frames his song: <br> Then will he fit his tongue <br>To dialogues of business, love, or strife; <br> But it will not be long <br> Ere this be thrown aside, <br> And with new joy and pride <br>The little actor cons another part; <br>Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage' <br>With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, <br>That Life brings with her in her equipage; <br> As if his whole vocation <br> Were endless imitation. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie <br> Thy soul's immensity; <br>Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep <br>Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, <br>That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, <br>Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,-- <br> Mighty prophet! Seer blest! <br> On whom those truths do rest, <br>Which we are toiling all our lives to find, <br>In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; <br>Thou, over whom thy Immortality <br>Broods like the Day, a master o'er a slave, <br>A presence which is not to be put by; <br> To whom the grave <br>Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight <br> Of day or the warm light, <br>A place of thought where we in waiting lie; <br>Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might <br>Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, <br>Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke <br>The years to bring the inevitable yoke, <br>Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? <br>Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, <br>And custom lie upon thee with a weight, <br>Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O joy! that in our embers <br> Is something that doth live, <br> That nature yet remembers <br> What was so fugitive! <br>The thought of our past years in me doth breed <br>Perpetual benediction: not indeed <br>For that which is most worthy to be blest-- <br>Delight and liberty, the simple creed <br>Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, <br>With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:-- <br> Not for these I raise <br> The song of thanks and praise; <br> But for those obstinate questionings <br> Of sense and outward things, <br> Fallings from us, vanishings; <br> Blank misgivings of a Creature <br>Moving about in worlds not realized, <br>High instincts before which our mortal Nature <br>Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: <br> But for those first affections, <br> Those shadowy recollections, <br> Which, be they what they may, <br>Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, <br>Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; <br> Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make <br>Our noisy years seem moments in the being <br>Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, <br> To perish never: <br>Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, <br> Nor Man nor Boy, <br>Nor all that is at enmity with joy, <br>Can utterly abolish or destroy! <br> Hence in a season of calm weather <br> Though inland far we be, <br>Our souls have sight of that immortal sea <br> Which brought us hither, <br> Can in a moment travel thither, <br>And see the children sport upon the shore, <br>And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! <br> And let the young lambs bound <br> As to the tabor's sound! <br>We in thought will join your throng, <br> Ye that pipe and ye that play, <br> Ye that through your hearts to-day <br> Feel the gladness of the May! <br>What though the radiance which was once so bright <br>Be now for ever taken from my sight, <br> Though nothing can bring back the hour <br>Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; <br> We will grieve not, rather find <br> Strength in what remains behind; <br> In the primal sympathy <br> Which having been must ever be; <br> In the soothing thoughts that spring <br> Out of human suffering; <br> In the faith that looks through death, <br>In years that bring the philosophic mind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, <br>Forebode not any severing of our loves! <br>Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; <br>I only have relinquish'd one delight <br>To live beneath your more habitual sway. <br>I love the brooks which down their channels fret, <br>Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they; <br>The innocent brightness of a new-born Day <br> Is lovely yet; <br>The clouds that gather round the setting sun <br>Do take a sober colouring from an eye <br>That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; <br>Another race hath been, and other palms are won. <br>Thanks to the human heart by which we live, <br>Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, <br>To me the meanest flower that blows can give <br>Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.</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> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=540080" data-title="Ode, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood de William Wordsworth" data-description="THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as i..."></div> </div> </div>
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