Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth 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.On e again !o I "ehold these steep and lofty liffs, That on a wild se luded s ene impress Thoughts of more deep se lusion; and onne t The lands ape with the #uiet of the s$y. The day is ome when I again repose %ere, under this dar$ sy amore, and view These plots of ottage-ground, these or hard-tufts, Whi h at this season, with their unripe fruits, &re lad in one green hue, and lose themselves '(id groves and opses. On e again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild) these pastoral farms, *reen to the very door; and wreaths of smo$e +ent up, in silen e, from among the trees! With some un ertain noti e, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some %ermit's ave, where "y his fire The %ermit sits alone. These "eauteous forms, Through a long a"sen e, have not "een to me &s is a lands ape to a "lind man's eye) ,ut oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and ities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the "lood, and felt along the heart; &nd passing even into my purer mind, With tran#uil restoration)feelings too Of unremem"ered pleasure) su h, perhaps, &s have no slight or trivial influen e On that "est portion of a good man's life, %is little, nameless, unremem"ered, a ts Of $indness and of love. -or less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspe t more su"lime; that "lessed mood, In whi h the "urthen of the mystery, In whi h the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligi"le world, Is lightened)that serene and "lessed mood,

In whi h the affe tions gently lead us on, .ntil, the "reath of this orporeal frame &nd even the motion of our human "lood &lmost suspended, we are laid asleep In "ody, and "e ome a living soul) While with an eye made #uiet "y the power Of harmony, and the deep power of /oy, We see into the life of things. If this ,e "ut a vain "elief, yet, oh! how oft In dar$ness and amid the many shapes Of /oyless daylight; when the fretful stir .nprofita"le, and the fever of the world, %ave hung upon the "eatings of my heart %ow oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, %ow often has my spirit turned to thee! &nd now, with gleams of half-e0tinguished thought, With many re ognitions dim and faint, &nd somewhat of a sad perple0ity, The pi ture of the mind revives again) While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, "ut with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. &nd so I dare to hope, Though hanged, no dou"t, from what I was when first I ame among these hills; when li$e a roe I "ounded o'er the mountains, "y the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led) more li$e a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then 1The oarser pleasures of my "oyish days, &nd their glad animal movements all gone "y2 To me was all in all.I annot paint What then I was. The sounding atara t %aunted me li$e a passion) the tall ro $, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their olours and their forms, were then to me &n appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter harm, ,y thought supplied, nor any interest .n"orrowed from the eye.That time is past, &nd all its a hing /oys are now no more,

&nd all its di33y raptures. -ot for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts %ave followed; for su h loss, I would "elieve, &"undant re ompen e. For I have learned To loo$ on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; "ut hearing oftentimes The still, sad musi of humanity, -or harsh nor grating, though of ample power To hasten and su"due. &nd I have felt & presen e that distur"s me with the /oy Of elevated thoughts; a sense su"lime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, &nd the round o ean and the living air, &nd the "lue s$y, and in the mind of man; & motion and a spirit, that impels &ll thin$ing things, all o"/e ts of all thought, &nd rolls through all things. Therefore am I still & lover of the meadows and the woods, &nd mountains; and of all that we "ehold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear,"oth what they half reate, &nd what per eive; well pleased to re ognise In nature and the language of the sense, The an hor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral "eing. -or per han e, If I were not thus taught, should I the more +uffer my genial spirits to de ay) For thou art with me here upon the "an$s Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, (y dear, dear Friend; and in thy voi e I at h The language of my former heart, and read (y former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while (ay I "ehold in thee what I was on e, (y dear, dear +ister! and this prayer I ma$e, 4nowing that -ature never did "etray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From /oy to /oy) for she an so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With #uietness and "eauty, and so feed

With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 5ash /udgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, -or greetings where no $indness is, nor all The dreary inter ourse of daily life, +hall e'er prevail against us, or distur" Our heerful faith, that all whi h we "ehold Is full of "lessings. Therefore let the moon +hine on thee in thy solitary wal$; &nd let the misty mountain-winds "e free To "low against thee) and, in after years, When these wild e stasies shall "e matured Into a so"er pleasure; when thy mind +hall "e a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory "e as a dwelling-pla e For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, +hould "e thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender /oy wilt thou remem"er me, &nd these my e0hortations! -or, per han e If I should "e where I no more an hear Thy voi e, nor at h from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past e0isten ewilt thou then forget That on the "an$s of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long & worshipper of -ature, hither ame .nwearied in that servi e) rather say With warmer loveoh! with far deeper 3eal Of holier love. -or wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of a"sen e, these steep woods and lofty liffs, &nd this green pastoral lands ape, were to me (ore dear, "oth for themselves and for thy sa$e!