SparkNotes: Wordsworth’s Poetry: “Tintern Abbey” Wordsworth’s Poetry page 1 of 2 Summary The full title of this poem is “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798.” It opens with the speaker’s declaration that five years have passed since he last visited this location, encountered its tranquil, rustic scenery, and heard the murmuring waters of the river. He recites the objects he sees again, and describes their effect upon him: the “steep and lofty cliffs” impress upon him “thoughts of more deep seclusion”; he leans against the dark sycamore tree and looks at the cottage-grounds and the orchard trees, whose fruit is still unripe. He sees the “wreaths of smoke” rising up from cottage chimneys between the trees, and imagines that they might rise from “vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,” or from the cave of a hermit in the deep forest.

The speaker then describes how his memory of these “beauteous forms” has worked upon him in his absence from them: when he was alone, or in crowded towns and cities, they provided him with “sensations sweet, / Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.” The memory of the woods and cottages offered “tranquil restoration” to his mind, and even affected him when he was not aware of the memory, influencing his deeds of kindness and love. He further credits the memory of the scene with offering him access to that mental and spiritual state in which the burden of the world is lightened, in which he becomes a “living soul” with a view into “the life of things.” The speaker then says that his belief that the memory of the woods has affected him so strongly may be “vain”—but if it is, he has still turned to the memory often in times of “fretful stir.” Even in the present moment, the memory of his past experiences in these surroundings floats over his present view of them, and he feels bittersweet joy in reviving them. He thinks happily, too, that his present experience will provide many happy memories for future years.

The speaker acknowledges that he is different now from how he was in those long-ago times, when, as a boy, he “bounded o’er the mountains” and through the streams. In those days, he says, nature made up his whole world: waterfalls, mountains, and woods gave shape to his passions, his appetites, and his love. That time is now past, he says, but he does not mourn it, for though he cannot resume his old relationship with nature, he has been amply compensated by a new set of more mature gifts; for instance, he can now “look on nature, not as in the hour / Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes / The still, sad music of humanity.” And he can now sense the presence of something far more subtle, powerful, and fundamental in the light of the setting suns, the ocean, the air itself, and even in the mind of man; this energy seems to him “a motion and a spirit that impels / All thinking thoughts....

/ And rolls through all things.” For that reason, he says, he still loves nature, still loves mountains and pastures and woods, for they anchor his purest thoughts and guard the heart and soul of his “moral being.” The speaker says that even if he did not feel this way or understand these things, he would still be in good spirits on this day, for he is in the company of his “dear, dear (d) Sister,” who is also his “dear, dear Friend,” and in whose voice and manner he observes his former self, and beholds “what I was once.” He offers a prayer to nature that he might continue to do so for a little while, knowing, as he says, that “Nature never did betray / The heart that loved her,” but leads rather “from joy to joy.” Nature’s power over the mind that seeks her out is such that it renders that mind impervious to “evil tongues,” “rash judgments,” and “the sneers of selfish men,” instilling instead a “cheerful faith” that the world is full of blessings.

The speaker then encourages the moon to shine upon his sister, and the wind to blow against her, and he says to her that in later years, when she is sad or fearful, the memory of this experience will help to heal her. And if he himself is dead, she can remember the love with which he worshipped nature. In that case, too, she will remember what the woods meant to the speaker, the way in which, after so many years of absence, they became more dear to him—both for themselves and for the fact that she is in them. Form “Tintern Abbey” is composed in blank verse, which is a name used to describe unrhymed lines in iambic pentameter. Its style is therefore very fluid and natural; it reads as easily as if it were a prose piece. But of course the poetic structure is tightly constructed; Wordsworth’s slight variations on the stresses of iambic rhythms is remarkable. Lines such as “Here, under this dark sycamore, and view” do not quite conform to the stress-patterns of the meter, but fit into it loosely, helping Wordsworth approximate the sounds of natural speech without grossly breaking his meter.

Occasionally, divided lines are used to indicate a kind of paragraph break, when the poet changes subjects or shifts the focus of his discourse. Commentary The subject of “Tintern Abbey” is memory—specifically, childhood memories of communion with natural beauty. Both generally and specifically, this subject is hugely important in Wordsworth’s work, reappearing in poems as late as the “Intimations of Immortality” ode. “Tintern Abbey” is the young Wordsworth’s first great statement of his principle (great) theme: that the memory of pure communion with nature in childhood works upon the mind even in adulthood, when access to that pure communion has been lost, and that the maturity of mind present in adulthood offers compensation for the loss of that communion—specifically, the ability to “look on nature” and hear “human music”; that is, to see nature with an eye toward its relationship to human life. In his youth, the poet says, he was thoughtless in his unity with the woods and the river; now, five years since his last viewing of the scene, he is no longer thoughtless, but acutely aware of everything the scene has to offer him.

Additionally, the presence of his sister gives him a view of himself as he imagines himself to have been as a youth. Happily, he knows that this current experience will provide both of them with future memories, just as his past experience has provided him with the memories that flicker across his present sight as he travels in the woods. 1 Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye During a Tour, July 13, 1798 - Poems | Academy of American Poets Academy of American Poets The Academy of American Poets is the largest membership-based nonprofit organization fostering an appreciation for contemporary poetry and supporting American poets. For over three generations, the Academy has connected millions of people to great poetry through programs such as National Poetry Month, the largest literary celebration in the world; Poets.org, the Academy’s popular website; American Poets, a biannual literary journal; and an annual series of poetry readings and special events. Since its founding, the Academy has awarded more money to poets than any other organization.

browse poems & poets sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox sign up The Thaw by Henry David Thoreau from the book read poems by this poet On April 7, 1770, William Wordsworth was born in Cockermouth, Cumbria, England. Wordsworth's mother died when he was eight—this experience shapes much of his later work. Wordsworth attended Hawkshead Grammar School, where his love of poetry was firmly established and, it is believed, he made his first attempts at verse. While he was at Hawkshead, Wordsworth's father died leaving him and his four siblings orphans. After Hawkshead, Wordsworth studied at St. John's College in Cambridge and before his final semester, he set out on a walking tour of Europe, an experience that influenced both his poetry and his political sensibilities. While touring Europe, Wordsworth came into contact with the French Revolution. This experience as well as a subsequent period living in France, brought about Wordsworth's interest and sympathy for the life, troubles, and speech of the "common man." These issues proved to be of the utmost importance to Wordsworth's work.

Wordsworth's earliest poetry was published in 1793 in the collections An Evening Walk and Descriptive Sketches. While living in France, Wordsworth conceived a daughter, Caroline, out of wedlock; he left France, however, before she was born. In 1802, he returned to France with his sister on a four-week visit to meet Caroline. Later that year, he married Mary Hutchinson, a childhood friend, and they had five children together. In 1812, while living in Grasmere, two of their children—Catherine and John—died. Equally important in the poetic life of Wordsworth was his 1795 meeting with the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge . It was with Coleridge that Wordsworth published the famous Lyrical Ballads in 1798. While the poems themselves are some of the most influential in Western literature, it is the preface to the second edition that remains one of the most important testaments to a poet's views on both his craft and his place in the world. In the preface Wordsworth writes on the need for "common speech" within poems and argues against the hierarchy of the period which valued epic poetry above the lyric.

Wordsworth's most famous work, The Prelude (1850), is considered by many to be the crowning achievement of English romanticism. The poem, revised numerous times, chronicles the spiritual life of the poet and marks the birth of a new genre of poetry. Although Wordsworth worked on The Prelude throughout his life, the poem was published posthumously. Wordsworth spent his final years settled at Rydal Mount in England, travelling and continuing his outdoor excursions. Devastated by the death of his daughter Dora in 1847, Wordsworth seemingly lost his will to compose poems. William Wordsworth died at Rydal Mount on April 23, 1850, leaving his wife Mary to publish The Prelude three months later.

Selected Bibliography Lines Written Above Tintern Abbey (1798) Lyrical Ballads (1798) The White Doe of Rylstone (1815) Peter Bell (1819) Memorials of a Tour of the Continent (1822) Yarrow Revisited (1835) The Prelude Or Growth of a Poet's Mind (1850) The Recluse (1888) Letters of Dorothy and William Wordsworth (1967) Letters of the Wordsworth Family (1969) Prose Works (1974) The Love Letters of William and Mary Wordsworth (1981) Essays William Wordsworth , 1770 - 1850 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 secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet 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, sensations 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 quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft— In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart— How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all.—I cannot paint What then I was.

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompence. 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. Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh!

yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee: and, in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh!

then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance— If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence—wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came Unwearied in that service: rather say With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake! This poem is in the public domain. This poem is in the public domain. William Wordsworth William Wordsworth, who rallied for "common speech" within poems and argued against the poetic biases of the period, wrote some of the most influential poetry in Western literature, including his most famous work, The Prelude, which is often considered to be the crowning achievement of English romanticism.

An introduction to ‘Tintern Abbey’ - The British Library An introduction to ‘Tintern Abbey’ Theme: Romanticism Professor Philip Shaw considers the composition of 'Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey', and explains how Wordsworth uses nature to explore ideas of connection and unity. Five years have passed; 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, Which on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion, and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. Revisiting Wordsworth’s ‘Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, 13 July 1798’ is the climatic poem of Lyrical Ballads (1798). Although Wordsworth and his circle commonly referred to the poem as ‘Tintern Abbey’, the significance of the full title is worth considering. Firstly, we are told that the poem is ‘written a few miles above Tintern Abbey’. The poem’s perspective on the abbey, therefore, is elevated and distant, and perhaps even detached.

Secondly, we discover that the poet has been here before: he is ‘revisiting’ the Wye valley. Thirdly, we are informed that the poem was composed ‘during a tour’ – written, that is, during the course of a pleasure trip in which several different places of interest are visited. Finally, we learn the poem’s exact moment of composition: 13 July 1798. Lyrical Ballads: 1798 edition Free from known copyright restrictions Seeing into the life of things Like thousands of travellers before him, Wordsworth’s perception of the valley and its picturesque centrepiece is informed by the aesthetics of tourism and by the genre of the landscape poem. But ‘Tintern Abbey’ is distinguished from other writings on this subject written in the late 18th century by its complex integration of landscape description, self-reflection and sheer philosophical ambition. After the opening description the speaker claims that he owes to the memory of his initial visit ‘sensations sweet / Felt in the blood and felt along the heart’ that have calmed and restored him in difficult times.

More daringly he states that the landscape has inspired ‘another gift, / Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood / In which the burden of the mystery’ of the world is ‘lightened’ and, with ‘an eye made quiet by the power / Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, / We see into the life of things’. Wordsworth, that is, looks beyond surface appearance to gain insight into a deeper level of existence. Distinguishing the ‘coarse pleasures’ that his younger self took in the forms of nature from the sober reflections of his mature self, the poet states that he has ‘felt … a sense sublime’: Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of the 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. In contrast to the superficial unity of the picturesque, Wordsworth uses repeated connectives (‘And the round ocean, and the living air’) as a means of fusing mind and nature in a living whole.

The ‘sense sublime’ that ‘rolls though all things’, including all ‘thinking things’ is, as many critics note, a pantheistic life-force, an echo of the ‘One Life within us and abroad’ celebrated by Coleridge in ‘The Eolian Harp’ (1795). The language of my former heart Here, on this triumphant note, the poem might have ended. But instead the poem introduces a new figure, the poet’s sister Dorothy. In Dorothy’s ‘wild eyes’ Wordsworth is able to ‘read’ his ‘former pleasures’. The sister, in whom the poet is able to ‘behold … what I once was’, thus serves as a final point of connection between past and present. With Dorothy established as a ‘dwelling-place’ for recollections of this moment in 1793, Wordsworth concludes ‘Tintern Abbey’ with a confident assertion of the ability of memory to overcome distinctions of time and space. Written by Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour.

July 13, 1798 by William Wordsworth | Poetry Foundation Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798 by William Wordsworth Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798 Related Poem Content Details 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 secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet 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. 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, sensations 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 quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft— In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart— How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all.—I cannot paint What then I was.

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, not any interest Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense.

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.

Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.

Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee: and, in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance— If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence—wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came Unwearied in that service: rather say With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

205poetry / Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey William Wordsworth (1770-1850) LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798[ 1 ] FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs[ 2 ] 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 quiet of the sky[ 3 ]. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10 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, 20 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,[ 4 ] I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:--feelings too 30 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,[ 5 ] 40 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 quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft-- 50 In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart-- How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wy[ 6 ]e!

thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee![ 7 ] And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 60 The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years.[ 8 ] And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first[ 9 ] I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man 70 Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved.[ 10 ] For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements[ 11 ] all gone by) To me was all in all.--I cannot paint What then I was.

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, 80 That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompence. For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes 90 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,[ 12 ] 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 100 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[ 13 ] In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor[ 14 ] of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 110 Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, 120 My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 130 The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.

Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee: and, in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, 140 Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations![ 15 ] Nor, perchance-- If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence--wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream 150 We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came Unwearied in that service: rather say With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love.

Nor wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake! 1798. Footnotes The title of this poem, “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye During a Tour. July 13, 1978,” is a very spatially informing title for a poem. Just by reading the title, the reader knows that the author wrote the poem while visiting Tintern Abbey. We also know that this is not his first visit, but a revisit, which connects us with some of the memories of the location given in the poem. The title also conveys a sense that the poet wrote these lines in the very moment that he was experiencing the beauty of the location, with lines such as, “That in this moment there is life and food For future years.” The title is very specific and gives a date and year to orient the reader with a time frame and location which may help with the reading of the poem. ▲ Wordsworth first recollection of this place is the noises he hears from the water rolling down the mountain.

You can imagine babbling creeks rolling down the steep mountains. This very specific image pulls the reader right into the scene. The use of present tense in the first images described allows the reader to feel as if they are in this beautiful place, not just hearing someone else's description ▲ From the title of the poem through the first stanza, the poet gives a very descriptive location in time and space of the position from which the poem is supposed to be read. However as the poem progresses, the setting of the poem and the speaker begin to blend as one with respect to the sky and landscape. We lose ourselves in the depths of seclusion and become one with nature. The referencing to the connection between sky and landscape describes almost a certain sense of clarity in the speaker and it gives a view into the mind of the speaker as well. ▲ Wordsworth effectively uses the setting as a means for comparison between the past and present. The drastic contrast between the city and his beloved nature helps give the reader more insight into what Tintern Abbey and the surrounding nature really mean to him. Specifically, the reader can begin to recognize the "gifts" and memories that Tintern Abbey has provided.

After leaving the serenity and beauty of the nature, Wordsworth finds himself in the "din" and loneliness of the city, and he reflects on his past days at Tintern Abbey. This almost seems ironic because a city is full of people and activity, but nature is more peaceful and secluded ▲ These lines employ understatement and emphasis on absences, both of words and memory, to, ironically, describe that which holds transcendent sway over the narrator's life. His "purer mind," resting from the material cares of life, dwells in tranquillity and quiet where it is restored. "Unremembered pleasure" may be read as an insignificant feeling in an other context, but in this poem this memory, which lacks specifics of time or place, is an almost divine feeling which cannot be articulated. The pastoral setting through which the narrator walks is elevated in its power by its ability to evoke such a memory from the narrator. By feeling that which is connected to an event the narrator cannot specifically place, the narrator in a sense transcends the material world of the present and is able to see life through a clearer viewpoint.

▲ In line 56, the poet employs an apostrophe to express his bursting emotions for the landscape of sylvan Wye. Throughout the poem, the speaker seems to be extremely emotional about his return to the area since his five year absence. These bursts of emotion are highlighted by these apostrophes, which can also be seen in lines 50 and 143. ▲ In lines 43 to 49, the narrator describes his notion of a person's last moments before death, which he portrays as very peaceful and reassuring. In the next stanza the narrator begins to express his doubt and insecurity about these thoughts regarding death, acknowledging that his depiction could be just a "vain belief." After that he addresses the landscape (sylvan Wye), saying "how often he's turned his spirit to thee." I interpreted this last statement as him saying that he's lost his hope and optimism (due to his preoccupation with time and death?) and also that he's returned to this location once again after five years to possibly rediscover his faith and confidence that he once had.

▲ Wordsworth here indicates a sense of hopefulness in that the "present pleasure" will provide "life and food/ For future years." He has recognized that his "dim and faint" recollections of his visit five years earlier have been meaningful and hopes that this experience will serve the same effect. ▲ Here, the speaker recalls his past. As a boy venturing through the Abbey for the first time, he knows nothing but the nature he sees around him. Nature is everything to him. Though, his boyish ways have now dissipated, and he recognizes things beyond nature (busy cities and such). Things have become more complicated in his life, and he must draw upon his memories of this beautiful Abbey to squelch his current reality. ▲ Here the speaker explains that as a boy he would run through the land around the Wye as if he were escaping from something that he hated. He claims now to be more mature and calm, but still, at other points in the poem, he says that when life in the city becomes unbearable he thinks about this place. In his imagination at least, he is "Flying from something that he dreads" and coming to this place, just like in his childhood.

▲ In order to contrast the differing situation of the past and of the present, he characterizes his youth in an animalistic way. During his first adventure through the banks of Wye in his “boyish days” (line 73), the journey is made with “animal movements” (line 74). All the things he saw like the colors and shapes of the rocks, mountains, and the forest stimulated his instinctive appetite and brought about “coarser [physical] pleasures” (line 73). At the other end of this is his adulthood where he characterizes himself as a human. He describes his maturity as the “sad music of humanity” (lines 91) which is what he knew it as when he was younger. This transition from boy to a man is portrayed as the change from animal to human (perhaps hinting at the correlation of evolution such as the happy oblivion of an animal or a young child maturing to a intellectual human?). ▲ The previous lines illustrate a strong picture to help identify the senses in the poem. The line, ''a sense sublime / of something far more deeply interfused,'' definitely gives pending news to how he feels toward the setting.

Further, he concludes by describing in lines 102 to the end of the stanza of the specific setting that truly displays his intense and devoted relationship with the pastoral, natural setting. This definitely gives insight to the feelings of the speaker with optimism and hope. ▲ This juncture of the poem heavily focuses on description. If one looks at this section 4 out of the 5 senses are noted. The sense of site is described through the mountains and the green earth. The sense of site in addition to the sense of hearing is noted when the text states "of all the might world of eye and ear--both what they half create." Finally touch and smell can be infered through a lover of the meadow and woods. The reader is led to believe that the individual in the poem loved this specific place where he could tour the trees and smell the earth. ▲ In this stanza, narrator compares and contrasts his perception of nature as a boy during his "boyish days" and as a more matured figure "like a man." In the past, nature was part of his physical being; he was like a "roe" that responded to nature instinctively at a physical level, often without thought.

The sounds and images of nature were his "appetite" that stimulated his bodily involvement among the "tall rock" and "gloomy wood." After five years of physical separation, although he still loves the nature as in the past, that love exists at a more innate, mental level. Nature, as he realizes, has become the everything of his intellectual aspect: "The anchor of my purest thoughts...and soul of all my moral being." ▲ In lines 121-141 Wordsworth is creating an interesting disruption of time. He is relating a memory of a place that he is visiting to his sister, whom he hopes will retain the memory. It's a sort of future past. Wordsworth is very concerned with his sister's appreciation of the scenery and the magnitude of his feelings about this place. However it is the precise idea of forming memories in the present, and planning to form memories in the future that is a truly paradoxical concept in relation to our general concept of time. Yet, it does not seem irrational to create future memories in our day to day ways of thinking.

▲ Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey Page Tools Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798 Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798 Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798 / Introduction Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798 Introduction In A Nutshell "Tintern Abbey" is probably the most famous poem by one of the most famous British Romantic poets. William Wordsworth was writing during the British Romantic period (critics always disagree about how exactly to define the beginning and end of the Romantic period, but suffice to say that it was from around 1785-1820).

The Romantic period wasn't so named because the poets wrote a lot about love, but because they were interested in Nature, Beauty, Truth, and all kinds of emotions that you could capitalize to mark as Very Important. The Romantics included poets, novelists, and even some philosophers and other non-fiction writers. In short, it was a complicated and many-sided movement. But, for our purposes here, we're going to focus on it as a literary movement. There are six principal poets associated with the movement: William Blake , Samuel Taylor Coleridge , William Wordsworth , Lord Byron , Percy Bysshe Shelley , and John Keats . The first three (Blake, Coleridge, and Wordsworth) get the credit for starting the movement, while the last three (Byron, Shelley, and Keats), who were younger, get the credit for carrying the movement forward. So our man Wordsworth was just one of many poets and writers producing work during this relatively short period, but he stands out for a lot of reasons. First of all, he was one of the people who really got the movement rolling.

William Blake had already published his Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience (in 1789 and 1794), but honestly, no one really read them besides his close friends until well after his death. Wordsworth, on the other hand, was a popular and commercial success, even during his lifetime. In 1798, he published a slim little collection of poems called Lyrical Ballads with his friend and fellow poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Coleridge only contributed a few poems to the volume (including "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and "The Nightingale"). The majority of the poems in the volume were by Wordsworth, and concluded with the oh-so-famous "Tintern Abbey." And… boom. The Romantic movement really kicked off. The Lyrical Ballads were a huge hit, and the "Preface" that Wordsworth wrote at the beginning of the volume turned into a kind of poetic manifesto about what he and Coleridge were trying to do, poetically speaking. He said that they wanted to write using "the real language of men," instead of the highfalutin language that poets have been using since Day One.

He also said he wanted to do away with the over-the-top metaphors and figurative language that poets so often use. Again, this was because he claimed that real people never actually talk that way. (What, don't you use elaborate extended metaphors all the time?) But the Lyrical Ballads weren't just revolutionary in terms of the language they used; they also changed the whole idea of what poetry could and should be about. Instead of writing about kings, queens, dukes, and historical or mythological subjects, Wordsworth and Coleridge wrote most of the poems in Lyrical Ballads about common people, like shepherds and farmers. Some of the poems are even about the mentally ill or the mentally disabled, like "The Mad Mother," "The Idiot Boy," and "The Thorn." "Tintern Abbey" is a little bit different in that it's about the poet himself, rather than a shepherd or distraught mother, but it is still representative of a lot of the changes Wordsworth wanted to make to the way poetry was written. It's written about common things (enjoying nature during a walk around a ruined abbey with his sister), and it uses a very conversational style with relatively simple vocabulary.

It also introduces the idea that Nature can influence, sustain, and heal the mind of the poet. This idea also gets developed in The Prelude, a long, semi-autobiographical poem that Wordsworth worked on in some form for his whole life. Before William Wordsworth wrote "Tintern Abbey" and the rest of the Lyrical Ballads, literature, and especially poetry, was written pretty exclusively for and about rich people. Sure, there are a few exceptions, but that was the general trend. Wordsworth's mission (not unlike Shmoop's) was to open up literature and to make it more accessible and enjoyable to normal, everyday people. Why Should I Care? At first glance, "Tintern Abbey" might seem to have no possible relation to your life. It's about a guy reminiscing about a walk he took with his sister five years before. Well, not entirely. That's the excuse for writing, but it's not what the poem is about. "Tintern Abbey" is about the ways that we change over time, and the ways that we try to figure out just when and how and why we've changed. In short, it's about trying to square the person you used to be with the person you've become.

So, if you've ever stopped and asked yourself when you became the person you are, or wondered how or why your memories don't measure up with the facts, this is a poem for you. Favorite Poems - William Wordsworth - Google Books William Wordsworth 0 Reviews Widely considered the greatest and most influential of the English Romantic poets, William Wordsworth (1770-1850) remains today among the most admired and studied of all English writers. He is best remembered for the poems he wrote between 1798 and 1806, the period most fully represented in this selection of 39 of his most highly regarded works. Among them are poems from the revolutionary Lyrical Ballads of 1798, including the well-known "Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abby"; the famous "Lucy" series of 1799; the political and social commentaries of 1802; the moving "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"; and the great "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood"--all reprinted from an authoritative edition.

Republication of a selection of 39 poems reprinted from The Complete Poetical Works of William Wordsworth: Student's Cambridge Edition, published by the Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston (The Riverside Press, Cambridge), 1904. Detailed contents. Alphabetical lists of titles and first lines. 80pp. 53/8 x 81/2. Paperbound. What people are saying - Write a review We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Selected pages We Are Seven I798 38Eﬁ5Ger+w 3 Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintem Abbey I798 25 Composed upon Westminster Bridge Sept 3 1802 I801 39 She Was a Phantom of Delight 1804 43 Character of the Happy Warrior 1806 50 lntimations of Immortality from Recollections 66 No preview available - 2012 Common terms and phrases Limited preview - 2005 About the author (1992) William Wordsworth, 1770 - 1850 Born April 7, 1770 in the "Lake Country" of northern England, the great English poet William Wordsworth, son of a prominent aristocrat, was orphaned at an early age. He attended boarding school in Hawkesmead and, after an undistinguished career at Cambridge, he spent a year in revolutionary France, before returning to England a penniless radical. Wordsworth later received honorary degrees from the University of Durham and Oxford University. He is best known for his work "The Prelude", which was published after his death.

For five years, Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy lived very frugally in rural England, where they met Samuel Taylor Coleridge. "Lyrical Ballads", published anonymously in 1798, led off with Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner" and ended with Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey". Between these two masterworks are at least a dozen other great poems. "Lyrical Ballads" is often said to mark the beginning of the English romantic revolution. A second, augmented edition in 1800 was prefaced by one of the great manifestos in world literature, an essay that called for natural language in poetry, subject matter dealing with ordinary men and women, a return to emotions and imagination, and a conception of poetry as pleasure and prophecy. Together with Robert Southey, these three were known as the "Lake Poets", the elite of English poetry. Before he was 30, Wordsworth had begun the supreme work of his life, The Prelude, an immensely long autobiographical work on "The Growth of the Poet's Mind," a theme unprecedented in poetry. Although first finished in 1805, The Prelude was never published in Wordsworth's lifetime.

Between 1797 and 1807, he produced a steady stream of magnificent works, but little of his work over the last four decades of his life matters greatly. "The Excursion", a poem of epic length, was considered by Hazlitt and Keats to be among the wonders of the age. After "Lyrical Ballads", Wordsworth turned to his own life, his spiritual and poetical development, as his major theme. More than anyone else, he dealt with mysterious affinities between nature and humanity. Poems like the "Ode on the Intimations of Immortality" have a mystical power quite independent of any particular creed, and simple lyrics like "The Solitary Reaper" produced amazingly powerful effects with the simplest materials. Wordsworth also revived the sonnet and is one of the greatest masters of that form. Wordsworth is one of the giants of English poetry and criticism, his work ranging from the almost childishly simple to the philosophically profound. Wordsworth married Mary Hutchinson in 1802 and in 1813, obtained a sinecure as distributor of stamps for Westmoreland.

At this stage of his life, Wordsworth's political beliefs had strayed from liberal to staunchly conservative. His last works were published around 1835, a few trickled in as the years went on, but the bulk of his writing had slowed. In 1842 he was awarded a government pension and in 1843 became the Poet Laureate of England, after the post was vacated by his friend Coleridge. Wordsworth wrote over 523 sonnets in the course of his lifetime. Wordsworth died at Rydal Mount on April 23, 1850. He is buried in Grasme Curchyard. He was 80 years old.

Question: Which English poet, (1770-1850), wrote, "Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey?
Answer: WILLIAM WORDSWORTH