Fragments from the Alfoxden Notebook (1)
There would he stand
In the still covert of some [lonesome?] rock,
Or gaze upon the moon until its light
Fell like a strain of music on his soul
And seemed to sink into his very heart.
Why is it we feel
So little for each other, but for this,
That we with nature have no sympathy,
Or with such things as have no power to hold
And never for each other shall we feel
As we may feel, till we have sympathy
With nature in her forms inanimate,
With objects such as have no power to hold
Articulate language. In all forms of things
There is a mind.
Of unknown modes of being which on earth,
Or in the heavens, or in the heavens and earth
Exist by mighty combinations, bound
Together by a link, and with a soul
Which makes all one.
On that green hill and on those scattered trees
And feel a pleasant consciousness of life
In the impression of that loveliness
Until the sweet sensation called the mind
Into itself, by image from without
Unvisited, and all her reflex powers
Wrapped in a still dream [of] forgetfulness
I lived without the knowledge that I lived
Then by those beauteous forms brought back again
To lose myself again as if my life
Did ebb and flow with a strange mystery.
The human bond with nature and its ability to inspire and sooth the mind is defined in the very first passage. It is a topic covered and expressed in a majority of Wordsworth's poems -- the beauty and loveliness of nature, its omnipotence, and its serenity. The link humans share with nature is one I treasure and constantly feel. In truth, it is more than a connection; it is a mighty combination, "bound together by a link, and with a soul which makes all one."
For me, whenever I catch sight of a stretch of sea, expanse of sky, meadow or hill of greenery, ray of sun, field of flowers, or the radiance of the moon (the list goes on, my lovelies), I experience more than merely a visual examination from the eye -- in my heart, a mental contemplation of life and its mysteries is evoked -- and suddenly the planet seems more sublime and lovely than it did before, and I feel more blessed and alleviated as well.
In other words:
When surrounded by nature at with all its beauty and wonderment, I "feel a pleasant consciousness of life in the impression of that loveliness until the sweet sensation called the mind" wraps me in "a still dream of forgetfulness."
Tried to phrase that best I could to match the meaning from the poem.
The second and third passages really made me think. I pursued the web for more information and this is what I gathered. Just because we have the power to hold articulate language does not mean we reign in power. Nature, with all her beauty and mysteries is forever omnipotent on this earth. We need to sympathize with it and treat it with the love it deserves, for we cannot treat nature with the emotions we treat each other during our mundane conflicts. "In all forms of things there is a mind," even "in her forms inanimate" that have "no power to hold articulate language." "Never for each other shall we feel as we may feel, till we have sympathy with nature in her forms inanimate."
Our life truly does "ebb and flow with a strange mystery."
Well, that was rather verbose, but I hope I got the points across. Just my opinion on this lovely poem, my lovelies -- you may think otherwise! It truly is magnificent.