Ode to the Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

William Wordsmouth 1888

 I

         THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
         The earth, and every common sight,
                   To me did seem
                 Apparelled in celestial 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.

                                  II

                 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 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.

                                 III

         Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous 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 gave that thought relief,
                 And I again am strong:
         The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
         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
             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!

                                  IV

         Ye blessed 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,
             My head hath its coronal,
         The fulness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all.
             Oh evil day! if I were sullen
             While Earth herself is adorning,
                 This sweet May-morning,
             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:--
             I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
             --But there's a Tree, of many, one,
         A single Field which I have looked 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?

                                  V

         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!
         Shades of the prison-house begin to close
             Upon the growing Boy,
         But He beholds 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.

                                  VI

         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 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.

                                 VII

         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!
         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;
             But it will not be long
             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,
         That Life brings with her in her equipage;
             As if his whole vocation
             Were endless imitation.

                                 VIII

         Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
             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 Prophet! Seer blest!
             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,
         A Presence which is not to be put by;
         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?
         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!

                                  IX

             O joy! that in our embers
             Is something that doth live,
             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--
         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;
           But for those obstinate questionings
           Of sense and outward things,
           Fallings from us, vanishings;
           Blank misgivings of a Creature
         Moving about in worlds not realised,
         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 abolish or destroy!
             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,
         And see the Children sport upon the shore,
         And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

                                  X

         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 behind;
             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,
         In years that bring the philosophic mind.

                                  XI

         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 relinquished one delight
         To live beneath your more habitual sway.
         I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
         Even more than when I tripped 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.

"We are cosmically insignificant"

"We are cosmically insignificant, a speck in space and a blink in time, inconceivably unimportant—except to each other, to whom we should therefore be unspeakably precious"- Dale McGowan

Exerts of the story... More a process of recovery then a tale of another.

[She]

I first glanced upon the drifter on the side of the road in the desert.

After driving for ten minutes, something in her brain and body registered. She turned around, and he was still there as though waiting for her.

[He]

A sadness crawls in her heart. I feel as though I knew her, even though space and time would suggest we had never met. I knew as soon as a glance was unthinkingly thrown my way that I would sleep with her.

[She]

I was immediately struck by his normalness. In some countries it could be described as ugly. A feeling of curiousity and repulsion arose at the same time. Once he started to speak I immediately forgot these original flutters of thought.

His use of language was so perfect that she at first suspected he was a Scandinavian who had lived in England for some time. He mouth was full and rounded our by a tuft of hair across the top of his supple lip. He spoke in a mix of myth and story; his stories had such an element of truth and mystic in them that you neither knew if they were true. It was unclear where he had drifted in from. And she did not care. Magic had arrived into her life.

[He]

You see, I could sense that she was from the first race of human beings. The first race of human beings on earth had such an amazing capacity for feeling. Sensation and emotion coursed through their bodies in shivers of tremendousness. Each human became aware of their greatness because they were constantly surrounded by greatness. At the coming of age, if it had not been awoken already by their work, their sattwa was awoken by love. You see, the first race of human beings knew that he was a man of greatness, not a man of the treadmill.

[She]

He began to bleed through his nose in my car. How unsexy. How dirty. Yet I still leave the blood their now, after he has departed.

[He]

Through connectedness the first race of human beings lived their lives. Loving, making music, art, and working. The kernel of emotion blossomed outward. It was unstoppable. As everyone was inclined to love, it was impossible to end until it ends itself.

[She]

On more than one occasion I have been ready to abandon my entire path for love. My passions are many, yet their length is short. Often I come to see, that I only sought to love myself. Through these lovers, I learn, I manipulate and I experience.

[He]

Fate is something outside of us. But loving is a choice made between souls. At times a contract from a past life, at others a soul split in two. You see, the first human race began to be devoured by its passions. The unstoppable divinity at became too much to bear. There was too much passion to be contained all at once.

[She]

Words began to create the world in which we would reside. At the measurement of time when he mentioned in a simple passing... that the road was his only friend. The spell was already cast. I always realised that he would never be mine. For a sorcerer of travel and time never is the possession of anyone or anything. Sorcerers yearn for the road, the way I yearn for a body close to me.

I was used to writing sad songs, which I never wanted to hear again, yet this one I wanted to scream from the depths of my soul. That my light had found me and I will allow him to go.

[Both]

Come with me to bed.

[He]

Her body quivered when we made love. I had not held many lovers in my arms. Yet the way she reacted was unlike any other I had ever held. I felt like an explorer, like I was the first person to kiss each area of her body. Although, I knew that she had had many lovers before me. Her eyes shone as though I was the only one.

[She]

The sex is incredible yet after, It feels good, when you hold me as one.

[He]

So the gods made a choice to let the race die out. They were replaced with a more resilient version. The capacity for empathy was almost destroyed and the world was refined so that the tender creatures did not light sparks and burn out and die so quickly anymore. Therefore earth lost the grand fire and magical existence for which it had been designed.

[She]

He whispered stories of finding me, his lufu. After he left I discovered that the word Lufu was used in the earliest English writings in the 8^th century. This word which eventually became love was first incorporated into the Old English language was used as a noun to describe ‘deep affection’ and its offspring verb ‘to be fond of’.

[He]

Once the gods had a new race of human beings who were able to shake off their passions the pagan elemental gods began to miss the unbridled wilderness and beauty of their lost Eden. Without consulting the council, they enlisted the help of the Dionysus, always keen for trouble, and went to return the precious little passion which had been locked away.

Using the darkness as a cloak, Dionysus crept into the chambers of Zeus and removed the quiver of arrows that he felt would not be noticed missing. He then dipped each pointed tip into Pandora’s box, and crept back down to earth to meet his co-conspirators. Together, over a course of dinner, and the course of millennium (which can happen simultaneously to the gods), they began to select human children who would restore some life to the barren field.

[She]

I go to my work as an accountant, yet I feel as if a million god drops have come from the sky and sprinkled me with each and everyone, blessed. I look up from my work and see him sitting in the corner. Our souls smile at each other.

[He]

As the passion and love flew down from the skies with the pain of an arrow from the sky of a god’s meal, that love, excitement, pain, joy and sorrow are inextricably intertwined: Because they were stealthily removed from a locked away Pandora's box, and mixed with magic. That is why it can seem so easy for everyone else. But so hard for the few selected, because those who were struck feel the conflict in each person’s soul. They feel the desire to voyage, to discover the pockets of inspiration and passion which survived the first eradication.

These human beings are at times so overwhelmed that it takes them over entirely. Unsure as to what has ravaged them. They crawl around in a state of immobility, inaction, and their desires burn a fire deep inside. They move between two worlds, a celestial world of which cannot be spoken. In this land colours fire more brightly, and food tastes more sweetly. And the mere thought of the sensation of touch is enough to arouse the other. And a self-obsessed world in which possessions and commercialised music and art allows the second race of human beings to escape immediate death from passion.

[She]

It was that night as I sat there, I did not know what I felt or did not feel, each cell in my body longed for his touch, screamed for another, as it had never before. My mind begged to sense what he felt. Instead it advised me that there was a long ride ahead of me.

That night we danced as close as we were able to be, and made love beneath the millions of stars in the freezing cold. No articulate or perfectly formed language could describe the perfection.

[She]

Once he had departed, the bright hues of the day always appeared as dark tinges. Nothing was able to penetrate my blackened soul. I exist inside four walls. Black and blank. There are no longer any more tales which can be written on my stomach.

Pain occurs when a beloved follows their dreams, as they do, as they must. The enchanted city has faded, fairies have become mere imagined beings no longer in my midst’s.

[He]

We all know that this is once how each moment of life was spent. We once lived every moment in instances of intensity and connectedness. For those gifted with the ability to feel again, once taken back again in its entirety to Eden. The land of mother’s kisses surrounded by celestial light. Glory and freshness. Yet once one discovers this, the place that the hybrids of the second generation unlock is an arena of anger and love. Sorrow.

Those god drops allowed us to feel. But they also made our feet itch, they made our tongues wish to taste. The dull tinges of the day become brilliant hues, and one feels the itch of so much more.

One must know what they are choosing to go without, and that was your purpose with me.

[She]

Sometimes I seek you in the middle of the night, once I return to full consciousness, the sensation I feel is wanting. Wanting, words and thoughts swirl and dance around you.