Posts Tagged ‘Wordsworth’

The sky is overcast


– The sky is overcast
With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon,
Which through that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull, contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,
Chequering the ground–from rock, plant, tree, or tower.
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards; he looks up–the clouds are split
Asunder,–and above his head he sees
The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not!–the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent;–still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.

William Wordsworth


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It is lovely to read all the posts about Spring in the NH (Northern Hemisphere). I’ve not much to write personally in this entry as it isn’t Spring in SH but here is a poem from William Wordsworth.

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?

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Spring used to be my favourite time of the year when I was living in a certain temperate country in the northern hemisphere. It was such a delight when the gloom  and bitterness of winter faded away and  was replaced with a burst of  vibrant hues and shades. Also spring is the season that exemplifies and personifies regrowth the most.(Although I do like Autumn too). I used to love going to the park, in this case Hyde Park, in early March when the landscape is embellished with clusters of daffodils of yellow and green hues, whilst the breeze danced  through them ever so gently.  Such a pretty flower, yet so understated. I sorely miss it now that I’m living near the equator/ southern hemisphere….

When I was in primary school,  they gave us daffodil bulbs once, to take home and cultivate for a given time frame and then we were asked to bring them back to school after the time elapsed. The facilitator in this daffodil project told us specifically to store the bulb in a very dark corner of the house , maybe in a closet or a box?!.   And of course the bulb had to be planted in soil in a pot first.  The instruction seemed quite straight forward enough for a kid to follow. So when I got home, I told my mum and brothers about the bulb and how to care for it.

They were not convinced! My mum and brothers said plants needed light and  lots of it and suggested I place the bulb near the window sill where its near the sunlight. I was a bit confused now that I had 2 different sets of instruction but I did what they told me somewhat.  I first tried to place it in a box and then nothing happened so I placed it in the bathroom (somewhat dark ) , near the window sill (for sunlight) and then I waited.

There didn’t seem to be much life coming out from the bulb after a week or two of waiting but eventually a small green shoot  sprouted out from it after I constantly peered at it in all that time ,  albeit very , very slowly.  When the time had elapsed and I was required to bring it back to my school, my little daffodil flower didn’t quite bloom yet. Nonetheless, I placed it  with the other pots of daffodils on the library table  and I noticed that most of the other daffodils were in full bloom as compared to mine which was a sorry sight.  The facilitator came to check all of our daffodils’ progress and mine was officially discounted because it didn’t bloom. In other words , it failed miserably. So they didn’t give me a certificate of achievement for it. Anyway, we got to take our daffodils back home after the assessment … And after a day or two , my daffodil bloomed in all its glory! How nice of it to reconsider! I guess this is how the origin of the phrase “late bloomer” came from.

Below is a well-known poem about the daffodil by the English poet,William Wordsworth.

“I wander’d lonely as a cloud”

I WANDER’D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch’d in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

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