His reading will make me pass my paper :D, God I love youtube! Thank you for sharing this video, the reading is bloody brilliant, much much clearer to me now.
I taught Brit Lit for many years. I have visited both Wordsworth homes near Windermere. many of his poems invoke s yearning for nature, a love. his Tintern Abbey poem is me.
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.-Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The Hermit sits alone. These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration:-feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened:-that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on,- Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft- In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart- How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee! And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all.-I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, not any interest Unborrowed from the eye.-That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.-And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear,-both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis 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 e'er 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 misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee: and, in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance- If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence-wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; and that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came Unwearied in that service: rather say With warmer love-oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
+Iris Startup . I agree. I often send this video to friends and family but always tell them to not watch the video. Wordsworth's words are so evocative that no video can match them. I ask that listeners close their eyes as they listen since the images and thoughts created in their mind will be more appropriate since they will be personal.
The name of the reader is Michael Sheen and it can be found under the title Great Poets of the Romantic Age [Unabridged] [Audible Audio Edition]. The track in question is 16 for Audible or 15 if you pick up the CD. You can click the link below for finders fee * Winks*: www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004D2Q8IY/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B004D2Q8IY&linkCode=as2&tag=silvstave0d-20&linkId=AHSJI55UKDMZZUZ5
Indeed a powerful recital, but the imagery is totally out of context and doesn't support the simplicity and the sublimity of the poem in any way. That's the only reason I wouldn't recommend this video to my elder poetry-loving friends.
This is a very good reading, however, the pictures are distracting and VERY literal. This is poetry, not non-fiction. The pictures move to fast. The poem is read in a beautiful and slow voice, but the pictures are not helping my ADHD.
His reading will make me pass my paper :D, God I love youtube! Thank you for sharing this video, the reading is bloody brilliant, much much clearer to me now.
Really superb and moving recital.
Got a little but choked up towards the end. What a beautiful poem
wonderfully read
Beautiful reading.... love it.... from India
For sure William Wordsworth would be pleased with such a performance ...
Praise to the natural world, recited in words so perfectly🌟
Wonderfull story with beautiful reading
pure bliss...
couldn't agree more ..brilliant poem delightful reading!
My admiration for you, the world-renowned amazing creator
Thank you for such nice recitation and background images, charming go with the lines.
Love this poem and really love the way it was read in this recording.
A beautiful poem beautifully read
Thank you !! Loots of love and respect from the beautiful Himalayan country " Nepal " for this video
lovely poem of wordsworh the great
This was well done. Thanks for the reading. I feel like it caught the spirit of the poem
I taught Brit Lit for many years. I have visited both Wordsworth homes near Windermere. many of his poems invoke s yearning for nature, a love. his Tintern Abbey poem is me.
A beautiful reading!
such an expressive recital.
Got Goosebumps!😊
Well done. It is a very nice recitation.
Mind blowing sir
Beautiful reading 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻
What a wonderful reading.
Beautifully read
Absolutely beautiful 10/10
Wonderful reading,thanks.
Wow..What a reading sir..Please Read more poems.I would love to hear your voice
and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart
This is an awesome reading!
Some pictures are really funny in it. 😂
Funny in what?
Love it! Thanks!
wonderful😘I connect with nature
Well read indeed Sir!
So vivid explanation.
Very beautiful Sir
Wonderful vediography
awesome I like it really
❤️🙏❤️
Plz make more vedios like this .
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.-Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration:-feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:-that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,-
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft-
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart-
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.-I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, not any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.-That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.-And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,-both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis 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 e'er 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 misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance-
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence-wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love-oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
Wonderful read, I just wish these images were in focus as they are difficult to look at.
I cried.. I literally cried while listening this. what a resonence my man ❤️ Wordsworth
Who speaking this nice poem and where he lives?
Nice
really good poem
Very smart reading
Yea
Excellent
Good,i need many poems
Watching in '21
The reading is indeed beautiful but many of the photos are quite inappropriate
+Iris Startup . I agree. I often send this video to friends and family but always tell them to not watch the video. Wordsworth's words are so evocative that no video can match them. I ask that listeners close their eyes as they listen since the images and thoughts created in their mind will be more appropriate since they will be personal.
Yes, how right - the photos are so sadly inappropriate.
+Joel Swanson I agree entirely. It's one of the most profound pieces of the English language. No pictures are required!
bravo!!
Who read it? It's stunning!
"That was great." Erica N.
I do miss poetry classes😔
My dear, dear friend 😌😔
flowery shite - pun intended give me keats,shelley, Byron any time
Beautiful reading! Whose voice is this?
The name of the reader is Michael Sheen and it can be found under the title Great Poets of the Romantic Age [Unabridged] [Audible Audio Edition]. The track in question is 16 for Audible or 15 if you pick up the CD.
You can click the link below for finders fee * Winks*:
www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004D2Q8IY/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B004D2Q8IY&linkCode=as2&tag=silvstave0d-20&linkId=AHSJI55UKDMZZUZ5
Thanks so much! I deeply appreciate being led to an excellent collection of Romantic poetry. Scouting perks are well earned!
2:57 6:10
Lovely words, but I am more "moon" and "June" poetry
This is just stolen from martin sheens reading without crediting him. This CZcamsr does not deserve the revenue.
Reading is ok but images are distracting and crazy
Indeed a powerful recital, but the imagery is totally out of context and doesn't support the simplicity and the sublimity of the poem in any way. That's the only reason I wouldn't recommend this video to my elder poetry-loving friends.
This is a very good reading, however, the pictures are distracting and VERY literal. This is poetry, not non-fiction. The pictures move to fast. The poem is read in a beautiful and slow voice, but the pictures are not helping my ADHD.