A POEM BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

 

                A POEM BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

                    William Wordsworth (1770-1850) is known as the greatest poet of Nature in English literature. Other romantic poets like Byron, Shelley and Keats also loved Nature but not to the extent Wordsworth did.

                        Wordsworth felt that Nature is the abode of God. It is the dwelling place of divinity. It reflects mutual love, universal relationship solace and perfect harmony. To him Nature was a teacher, a guide, a nurse, and a healer. It turned his sorrows into joys.

                        In a long poem titled Tintern Abbey, Wordsworth tells his sister: Nature never did betray the heart that loved her; It is 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 ever 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 mist misty mountain winds be free to blow against thee.

                        In another poem Lines Written in Early Spring which is given  below Wordsworth shows the contrasting distinctions  between humans and nature. As a literary critic points out: the natural world reflects divine harmony, whereas human actions (war, greed, exploitation) appear sinful and corrupt.

                                    LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

 

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man.

 

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And ’tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

 

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure:—

But the least motion which they made

It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

 

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

 

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature’s holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

                                                            *******

G.R.Kanwal

8^th July 2026