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"It was an April morning: fresh and clear"
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6.8
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(22
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It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied
Was softened down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of June; as if their various hues
Were only hindrances that stood between
Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed
Such an entire contentment in the air
That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the summer.--Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
Or like some natural produce of the air,
That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
But 'twas the foliage of the rocks--the birch,
The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
With hanging islands of resplendent furze:
And, on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
"Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee."
----Soon did the spot become my other home,
My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there,
To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
Years after we are gone and in our graves,
When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.
William Wordsworth
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Read poems about / on: june, april, dog, green, strength, winter, sometimes, summer, tree, song, home, running, hope, water
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Comments about this poem ("It was an April morning: fresh and clear"
by
William Wordsworth
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William Wordsworth
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Anthony Foster
(2/10/2009 1:15:00 PM) |
At least our thoughts are our own. I wonder if he had pressure and opposition maybe a secret relationship. Very discriptive you can hear the stream and see all the detail described in the poem. Its standard is why it has survived the test of time. I wish I could write like that.
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JOE POEWHIT
(2/10/2009 4:59:00 AM) |
Funny, but there was a girl or young mature woman of our childhood crowd. We sort of danced around her and she was the only sane one of the crowd. So, it was like a special glen of wonderment the early young part of life. With April and the dancing flower friends around her. Such was a thought provoking memory of the mid 1960s that this poem evoked. [ though Shakespeare was a playwright, not a poet ]
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Kentucky Refugee
(2/10/2008 9:33:00 AM) |
I can think of no greater memorial than a glen full of the spirit of enjoyment, desire, hopes, and wishes. In times of great loss and pain, the 'wild nook' with a clear stream has been the most healing balm that I have found. If Emma had the same feelings for Wordsworth, would she feel that a name on a lonely sheep pasture was an adequate response to their love?
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Jasbir Chatterjee
(2/10/2006 10:34:00 PM) |
Thanks, Poemhunter, for this wonderful poem.
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William Wordsworth
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