Friday, 7 August 2015

A Sense Sublime

You can't say I don't mix it up, hey? From baby's poo faces to some lines by my favourite Nature poet, William Wordsworth. I am reading a biography on him right now...a popular biography (rather than a literary one) by Hunter Davies. It was published in 1980. I've been wanting to read about Wordsworth ever since I went to Hua Hin two years ago for my birthday and finally read The Prelude as well as Dorothy Wordsworth's diaries.

For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth;
but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, -- both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

No comments:

Post a Comment