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Deborah Guzzi is a healing facilitator specializing in Japanese Shiatsu and Reiki. She writes for Massage and Aromatherapy publications. She travels the world to expand her knowledge of healing and seeking writing inspiration. She has walked the Great Wall of China and visited Nepal (during the civil war), Japan, Egypt (two weeks before “The Arab Spring”), Peru, and France (during December’s terrorist attacks).

Her poetry appears in Magazines: here/there: poetry in the UK, Existere - Journal of Arts and Literature in Canada, Tincture in Australia, Cha: Asian Literary Review, Hong Hong, China, Latchkey Tales in New Zealand, Vine Leaves Literary Journal in Greece, mgv2>publishing in France, and Travel by the Book, Ribbons: Tanka Society of America Journal, Emerge Literary Journal, and others in the USA. 

 


The Beauty of Wordsworth


Blog Posted:12/8/2012 7:34:00 AM
I was read Wordsworth from the time I was an infant, few can ever come near to the glory of his words.


William Wordsworth. 1770–1850

536. Ode
Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

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.         5
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
        Turn wheresoe'er I may,
            By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

        The rainbow comes and goes,  10
        And lovely is the rose;
        The moon doth with delight
    Look round her when the heavens are bare;
        Waters on a starry night
        Are beautiful and fair;  15
    The sunshine is a glorious birth;
    But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
    And while the young lambs bound  20
        As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
        And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;  25
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
        And all the earth is gay;
            Land and sea  30
    Give themselves up to jollity,
      And with the heart of May
    Doth every beast keep holiday;—
          Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy  35
    Shepherd-boy!

Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call
    Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
    My heart is at your festival,  40
      My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
        O evil day! if I were sullen
        While Earth herself is adorning,
            This sweet May-morning,  45
        And the children are culling
            On every side,
        In a thousand valleys far and wide,
        Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:—  50
        I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
        —But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
          The pansy at my feet  55
          Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,  60
        Hath had elsewhere its setting,
          And cometh from afar:
        Not in entire forgetfulness,
        And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come  65
        From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
        Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,  70
        He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
    Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
      And by the vision splendid
      Is on his way attended;  75
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,  80
        And no unworthy aim,
    The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,
    Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.  85

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!  90
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learnèd art;
    A wedding or a festival,
    A mourning or a funeral;  95
        And this hath now his heart,
    And unto this he frames his song:
        Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
        But it will not be long 100
        Ere this be thrown aside,
        And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage'
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 105
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
        As if his whole vocation
        Were endless imitation.

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
        Thy soul's immensity; 110
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—
        Mighty prophet! Seer blest! 115
        On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a master o'er a slave, 120
A presence which is not to be put by;
          To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
        Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie; 125
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 130
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

        O joy! that in our embers
        Is something that doth live, 135
        That nature yet remembers
        What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest— 140
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—
        Not for these I raise
        The song of thanks and praise; 145
    But for those obstinate questionings
    Of sense and outward things,
    Fallings from us, vanishings;
    Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realized, 150
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:
        But for those first affections,
        Those shadowy recollections,
      Which, be they what they may, 155
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
  Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 160
            To perish never:
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
            Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy! 165
    Hence in a season of calm weather
        Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
        Which brought us hither,
    Can in a moment travel thither, 170
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
        And let the young lambs bound
        As to the tabor's sound! 175
We in thought will join your throng,
      Ye that pipe and ye that play,
      Ye that through your hearts to-day
      Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright 180
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
    Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
      We will grieve not, rather find
      Strength in what remains behind; 185
      In the primal sympathy
      Which having been must ever be;
      In the soothing thoughts that spring
      Out of human suffering;
      In the faith that looks through death, 190
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight 195
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
            Is lovely yet; 200
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 205
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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  1. Date: 12/11/2012 12:11:00 PM
    I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD.... one of the first poems i remember read to me as a tot.... what a soothing voice..for a troubled time--the country was full of unrest in his time, too! great stuff..

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  1. Date: 12/9/2012 6:19:00 AM
    Yes, I love Wordsworth too, Debs. My favourites are his skating poem and, of course, Daffodils. Have you ever read Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal? It's really beautiful.

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  1. Date: 12/8/2012 7:26:00 PM
    Oh I am so pleased you all liked visiting one of my fav poets! Brian I've missed you. Craig you lucky GUY! & David well I give alot to be in that church and hear a reading!

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    Strand Avatar Brian Strand Date: 12/9/2012 3:11:00 AM Block poet from commenting on your poetry

    Why not make this a series Debbie? Still busy being a carer fro my wife, but still drop in with a poem and comment here and there from time to time.Rgds Brian
  1. Date: 12/8/2012 3:11:00 PM
    Debbie, One of the wonderful things about him, as you have alluded to, is his seeming boundless optimism-- Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay.

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    Cornish Avatar Craig Cornish Date: 12/8/2012 3:20:00 PM Block poet from commenting on your poetry

    Going to Portland next week to stay near the port for a night and go to Longfellow's house--I've been but not for many years--looking forward to it as it is a beautiful area as you well know---we lived in Falmouth a few years ago so it will be a homecoming of sorts.
  1. Date: 12/8/2012 2:11:00 PM
    I also love Wordsworth but he can get carried away with himself as he does here. I agree with Brian since I am a fan of more abbreviated compositions although these vary some in inspiration. I love the ending here and always appreciate his passion.

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    Cornish Avatar Craig Cornish Date: 12/8/2012 3:13:00 PM Block poet from commenting on your poetry

    So glad you posted him and I agree with your feelings about his joy.
  1. Date: 12/8/2012 11:37:00 AM
    Perhaps for my taste Debbie, Tennyson runs him close with this short poem...Crossing the Bar..... SUNSET and evening star,/ And one clear call for me!/ And may there be no moaning of the bar,/ When I put out to sea,/ But such a tide as moving seems asleep,/ Too full for sound and foam,/ When that which drew from out the boundless deep/ Turns again home./ ......................... Twilight and evening bell,/ And after that the dark!/ And may there be no sadness or farewell,/ When I embark;/ ............. For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place/ The flood may bear me far,/ I hope to see my Pilot face to face/ When I have crost the bar./

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    Guzzi Avatar Debbie Guzzi Date: 12/8/2012 7:24:00 PM Block poet from commenting on your poetry

    Oh I love Tennyson too!
  1. Date: 12/8/2012 11:13:00 AM
    Debbie now we are talking poetry, he is one of my most favourite poets and I am lucky enough to live withing an hours drive of his home, church and grave, they still hold regular poetry readings in the church (St Oswalds in Grassmere ) and they are just magnificent to attend ,as the church is a very small village church and you are transported back in time, just enchanting, I did A Tribute Sonnet to him a while back..have a peaceful weekend...David

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  1. Date: 12/8/2012 11:12:00 AM
    Alrid I'd love to see your talent give us an Ode! Light & Love [Doesn't have to be this long ;)]

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    Ertsland Avatar Arild Andresen Ertsland Date: 12/8/2012 11:32:00 AM Block poet from commenting on your poetry

    I`ll see what I can come up with,Debs:) Not feeling too inspirational lately.Hugs~
  1. Date: 12/8/2012 11:11:00 AM
    "splendor in the grass" tha line alone has been the basis for ART..such as Christina by Wyeth & Movie's my Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright William Inge's Gail a wonderful Movie!

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  1. Date: 12/8/2012 11:07:00 AM
    Michael so nice to hear from you. So nice you read the whole long beauty of this ..so often here on Soup long writes are seldom read. Blessed Be aye...

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  1. Date: 12/8/2012 11:02:00 AM
    I say VERY inspirational words here,Debs.To me it is unbeliveable that a person can write such a wonderful poem.Perpetual joy indeed..:)

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  1. Date: 12/8/2012 7:45:00 AM
    Lovely words and happiness from this... Perpetual joy , yes.... hugs Michael

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  1. Date: 12/8/2012 7:36:00 AM
    Can you even imagine the person who could write such perpetual joy?

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Beauty, yes Sijohope,imagination,philosop

Fav Poets

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Carolyn Devonshire United States Flag United States Read
Carrie Richards United States Flag United States Read
Deirdre Omaidin Ireland Flag Ireland Read
Andrew Crisci United States Flag United States Read
Jim Fish United States Flag United States Read
Debbie Guzzi United States Flag United States Read
Nigel Fawcett Italy Flag Italy Read
L'nass Shango United States Flag United States Read
Andrea Dietrich United States Flag United States Read
Robert L. Hinshaw United States Flag United States Read
Chris D. Aechtner Canada Flag Canada Read
nette onclaud Philippines Flag Philippines Read
Sidney Beck Russian Federation Flag Russian Federation Read
Sami Al-khalili Canada Flag Canada Read
Charlotte Jade Puddifoot United Kingdom Flag United Kingdom Read
Cyndi MacMillan Canada Flag Canada Read
T Wignesan _Not Listed Flag _Not Listed Read
Elaine George Canada Flag Canada Read
sharon Winter United States Flag United States Read
Michael Smith United States Flag United States Read
jack horne United Kingdom Flag United Kingdom Read
Catie Lindsey United States Flag United States Read
Ruben O. Argentina Flag Argentina Read