Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey
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,
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 hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, 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 through 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 colors 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 recognize
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!
Literary Analysis
This literary analysis was generated with AI and may contain interpretive differences. Provide your analysis in the comments section.
Summary
Wordsworth returns to the Wye after five years away and finds the landscape still vivid, but now charged with memory. What begins as a simple act of revisiting becomes a meditation on how nature works differently at different stages of life: first as immediate sensation, then as inward resource, and finally as a moral and spiritual influence that can outlast physical presence.
The poem moves through layers of experience. At first the river, cliffs, farms, and woods awaken old impressions of delight and solitude. Then the poem turns inward, showing how these scenes sustained the poet during periods of urban strain and private weariness. By the end, he addresses his sister directly, hoping that she too will carry this living bond with nature into the future. Beneath the calm confidence lies a subtle tension: nature offers continuity and healing, yet the poet also admits change, loss, and the uncertainty of whether such faith can fully withstand the pressures of ordinary life.
Form Breakdown
Theme
- Memory and continuity - The return to the river turns the landscape into a storehouse of remembered feeling, showing how places can preserve the self across time.
- Nature as moral teacher - The poem presents the natural world as a force that shapes conscience, tenderness, and spiritual steadiness rather than merely giving visual pleasure.
- Growth and maturity - Wordsworth contrasts youthful ecstasy with the calmer, deeper understanding that comes later in life, suggesting that loss can be transformed into richer insight.
- Solitude and fellowship - The speaker values private communion with nature, yet the poem ends by joining that inward experience to his sister's company and future remembrance.
- Nature and the human mind - The poem insists that the world is not simply observed but partly formed by consciousness, creating a lasting bond between external scene and inward perception.
- Comfort against modern life - Towns, noise, and social weariness are set against the restorative power of the river country, which offers relief from mental exhaustion and public pressure.
Literary Devices
- Blank verse - The unrhymed iambic pentameter gives the poem a flexible, reflective movement suited to long thought and shifting emotion.
- Apostrophe - The direct address to the river and later to the sister creates intimacy and turns the landscape into a living listener.
- Repetition - Phrases such as the return to sight and memory echo the act of revisiting, reinforcing the poem's concern with recurrence and persistence.
- Imagery - Detailed images of cliffs, smoke, orchards, and water build a scene that is at once physical and emotionally charged.
- Contrast - The poem contrasts youthful appetite with mature reflection, rural peace with urban strain, and immediate sensation with inward vision.
- Metaphor - Nature is described as a guide, guardian, and nurse, suggesting that it actively shapes the mind and character.
- Enjambment - The flowing lines mimic the movement of the river and the gradual unfolding of thought.
Symbolism
- The Wye River - The river symbolizes continuity, memory, and the steady motion of time passing through changing human life.
- The cliffs and woods - The surrounding landscape suggests permanence, enclosure, and a deeper reality beyond fleeting social concerns.
- Smoke from the cottages - The quiet smoke hints at human presence within nature, linking rural life to an almost haunted sense of belonging.
- The sister - She symbolizes the possibility that the speaker's experience can be shared, inherited, and renewed in another life.
- The moon and mountain winds - These natural presences stand for freedom, solitude, and the ongoing influence of the natural world on the imagination.
- The mansion of the mind - This image symbolizes memory as a stored interior world where beauty and sound remain available in later hardship.
Tone
Wordsworth's tone is reverent, thoughtful, and quietly assured, but it is also tinged with wistfulness as he measures what has been gained against what has faded. The mood for the reader moves between calm delight and meditative melancholy: the scene feels peaceful and expansive, yet the poem keeps reminding us that time alters perception, youth cannot be recovered, and spiritual certainty must be earned through change.
Historical Context
Wordsworth belongs to English Romanticism, a literary movement that placed special value on individual feeling, memory, nature, and inward life. In this tradition, landscape is not a mere backdrop; it becomes a source of insight and a partner in thought. The poem reflects that larger Romantic interest in how natural scenes can awaken imagination and shape moral experience.
The poem also fits the period's growing response to industrial and urban life, which often seemed noisy, fragmented, and spiritually draining. Against that background, rural scenery appears not only beautiful but restorative, offering a counterweight to modern anxiety. Wordsworth's plain but elevated blank verse also reflects the Romantic desire to make serious poetry from common experience and real speech.
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