名人诗歌|Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Earl

There was a time when meadow， grove^{1， and stream，}

The earth， and every common sight

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial^{2 light，}

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

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，

And lovely is the rose；

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare；

Waters on a starry^{3 night}

Are beautiful and fair；

The sunshine is a glorious birth；

But yet I know， where'er I go，

That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

Now， while the birds thus sing a joyous^{4 song，}

And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound，

To me alone there came a thought of grief：

A timely utterance^{5 gave that thought relief，}

And I again am strong.

The cataracts^{6 blow their trumpets7 from the steep，}

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong：

I hear the echoes through the mountains throng^8.

The winds come to me from the fields of sleep，

And all the earth is gay；

Land and sea

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

Shepherd-boy！

Ye blessd Creatures， I have heard the call

Ye to each other make； I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee^9；

My heart is at your festival，

My head hath its coronal，

The fulness of your bliss^{10， I feelI feel it all.}

O evil day！ if I were sullen¹¹

While Earth herself is adorning¹²

This sweet May-morning；

And the children are culling¹³

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：

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

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，

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

From God， who is our home：

Heaven lies about us in our infancy^14！

Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy，

But he beholds^{16 the light， and whence it flows，}

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；

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，

And no unworthy aim，

The homely^{18 nurse doth all she can}

To make her foster-child， her inmate^{19， Man，}

Forget the glories he hath known，

And that imperial palace whence he came.

Behold^{15 the Child among his new-born blisses，}

A six years' darling of a pigmy size！

See， where 'mid^{20 work of his own hand he lies，}

Fretted^{22 by sallies of his mother's kisses，}

With light upon him from his father's eyes！

See， at his feet， some little plan or chart，

Some fragment from his dream of human life，

Shaped by himself with newly-learned art；

A wedding or a festival，

A mourning or a funeral；

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^23；

But it will not be long

Ere this be thrown aside，

And with new joy and pride

The little actor cons^{24 another part；}

Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage'

With all the Persons， down to palsied Age，

That life brings with her in her equipage；

As if his whole vocation²⁵

Were endless imitation.

Thou， whose exterior^{26 百度竞价推广blance27 doth belie28}

Thy soul's immensity；

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^{29 Prophet！ Seer blest！}

On whom those truths rest

Which we are toiling^{30 all our lives to find，}

In darkness lost， the darkness of the grave；

Thou， over whom thy Immortality³²

Broods like the day， a master o'er a slave，

A Presence which is not to be put by；

To whom the grave

Is but a lonely bed， without the sense of sight

Of day or the warm light，

A place of thoughts where we in waiting lie；

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^{33 yoke34，}

Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife？

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！

0 joy！ that in our embers

Is something that doth live，

That Nature yet remembers

What was so fugitive^35！

The thought of our past years in me doth breed

Perpetual benediction^{36： not indeed}

For that which is most worthy^{17 to be blest，}

Delight and liberty， the simple creed³⁷

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；

But for those obstinate^{38 questionings}

Of sense and outward things，

Fallings from us， vanishings，

Blank misgivings^{39 of a creature}

Moving about in worlds not realized，

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，

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，

To perish never；

Which neither listlessness， nor mad endeavour，

Nor man nor boy，

Nor all that is at enmity with joy，

Can utterly^{40 abolish or destroy！}

Hence， in a season of calm weather

Though inland far we be，

Our souls have sight of that immortal^{31 sea}

Which brought us hither；

Can in a moment travel thither⁴¹

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！

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

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^{42 behind；}

In the primal^{43 sympathy}

Which having been must ever be；

In the soothing^{44 thoughts that spring}

Out of human suffering；

In the faith that looks through death，

In years that bring the philosophic^{45 mind.}

And 0， ye Fountains， Meadows， Hills， and Groves^46，

Forebode not any severing^{47 of our loves！}

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might；

I only have relinquish'd one delight

To live beneath your more habitual^{48 sway；}

I love the brooks^{49 which down their channels fret21}

Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they；

The innocent brightness of a new-born day

Is lovely yet；

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，

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