William Wordsworth first published "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood" in his 1807 collection Poems, in Two Volumes. Often considered one of Wordsworth's greatest masterpieces, this poem explores some of the themes that haunted Wordsworth across his whole career: childhood, memory, nature, and the human soul. The poem's speaker remembers that, when he was a child, he saw the whole world shining with heavenly beauty, and wonders where that beauty has gone now he's an adult. While he can never get that kind of vision back, he concludes, he can still build his faith upon his memories of it; the way the world looks to children, he argues, is a hint that every human soul comes from heaven, and will return there one day.
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The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
(Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up")
1
1There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
2 The earth, and every common sight,
3 To me did seem
4 Apparelled in celestial light,
5 The glory and the freshness of a dream.
6It is not now as it hath been of yore—
7 Turn wheresoe'er I may,
8 By night or day,
9The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
2
10 The Rainbow comes and goes,
11 And lovely is the Rose,
12 The Moon doth with delight
13 Look round her when the heavens are bare,
14 Waters on a starry night
15 Are beautiful and fair;
16 The sunshine is a glorious birth;
17 But yet I know, where'er I go,
18That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
3
19Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
20 And while the young lambs bound
21 As to the tabor's sound,
22To me alone there came a thought of grief:
23A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
24 And I again am strong:
25The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
26No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
27I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
28 The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
29 And all the earth is gay;
30 Land and sea
31 Give themselves up to jollity,
32 And with the heart of May
33 Doth every Beast keep holiday—
34 Thou Child of Joy,
35Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy!
4
36Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
37 Ye to each other make; I see
38The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
39 My heart is at your festival,
40 My head hath its coronal,
41The fullness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
42 Oh evil day! if I were sullen
43 While Earth herself is adorning,
44 This sweet May morning,
45 And the Children are culling
46 On every side,
47In a thousand valleys far and wide,
48 Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
49And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm—
50 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
51 —But there's a Tree, of many, one,
52A single Field which I have looked upon,
53Both of them speak of something that is gone:
54 The Pansy at my feet
55 Doth the same tale repeat:
56Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
57Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
5
58Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
59The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
60 Hath had elsewhere its setting,
61 And cometh from afar:
62 Not in entire forgetfulness,
63 And not in utter nakedness,
64But trailing clouds of glory do we come
65 From God, who is our home:
66Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
67Shades of the prison-house begin to close
68 Upon the growing Boy
69But he
70Beholds the light, and whence it flows,
71 He sees it in his joy;
72The Youth, who daily farther from the east
73 Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
74 And by the vision splendid
75 Is on his way attended;
76At length the Man perceives it die away,
77And fade into the light of common day.
6
78Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
79Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
80 And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
81 And no unworthy aim,
82The homely Nurse doth all she can
83To make her foster child, her Inmate Man,
84 Forget the glories he hath known,
85And that imperial palace whence he came.
7
86Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
87A six years' Darling of a pygmy size!
88See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
89Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
90With light upon him from his father's eyes!
91See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
92Some fragment from his dream of human life,
93Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;
94 A wedding or a festival,
95 A mourning or a funeral;
96 And this hath now his heart,
97 And unto this he frames his song;
98 Then will he fit his tongue
99To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
100 But it will not be long
101 Ere this be thrown aside,
102 And with new joy and pride
103The little Actor cons another part;
104Filling from time to time his "humorous stage"
105With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
106That Life brings with her in her equipage;
107 As if his whole vocation
108 Were endless imitation.
8
109Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
110 Thy Soul's immensity;
111Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
112Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
113That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
114Haunted forever by the eternal mind—
115 Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
116 On whom those truths do rest,
117Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
118In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
119Thou, over whom thy Immortality
120Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
121A Presence which is not to be put by;
122Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
123Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
124Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
125The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
126Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
127Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
128And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
129Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
9
130 O joy! that in our embers
131 Is something that doth live,
132 That Nature yet remembers
133What was so fugitive!
134The thought of our past years in me doth breed
135Perpetual benediction: not indeed
136For that which is most worthy to be blest;
137Delight and liberty, the simple creed
138Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
139With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast—
140 Not for these I raise
141 The song of thanks and praise;
142 But for those obstinate questionings
143 Of sense and outward things,
144 Fallings from us, vanishings;
145 Blank misgivings of a Creature
146Moving about in worlds not realised,
147High instincts before which our mortal Nature
148Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised;
149 But for those first affections,
150 Those shadowy recollections,
151 Which, be they what they may,
152Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
153Are yet a master light of all our seeing;
154 Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
155Our noisy years seem moments in the being
156Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
157 To perish never;
158Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
159 Nor Man nor Boy,
160Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
161Can utterly abolish or destroy!
162 Hence in a season of calm weather
163 Though inland far we be,
164Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
165 Which brought us hither,
166 Can in a moment travel thither,
167And see the Children sport upon the shore,
168And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
10
169Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
170 And let the young Lambs bound
171 As to the tabor's sound!
172We in thought will join your throng,
173 Ye that pipe and ye that play,
174 Ye that through your hearts today
175 Feel the gladness of the May!
176What though the radiance which was once so bright
177Be now forever taken from my sight,
178 Though nothing can bring back the hour
179Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
180 We will grieve not, rather find
181 Strength in what remains behind;
182 In the primal sympathy
183 Which having been must ever be;
184 In the soothing thoughts that spring
185 Out of human suffering;
186 In the faith that looks through death,
187In years that bring the philosophic mind.
11
188And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
189Forebode not any severing of our loves!
190Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
191I only have relinquished one delight
192To live beneath your more habitual sway.
193I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
194Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
195The innocent brightness of a newborn Day
196 Is lovely yet;
197The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
198Do take a sober colouring from an eye
199That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
200Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
201Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
202Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
203To me the meanest flower that blows can give
204Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
(Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up")
1
1There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
2 The earth, and every common sight,
3 To me did seem
4 Apparelled in celestial light,
5 The glory and the freshness of a dream.
6It is not now as it hath been of yore—
7 Turn wheresoe'er I may,
8 By night or day,
9The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
2
10 The Rainbow comes and goes,
11 And lovely is the Rose,
12 The Moon doth with delight
13 Look round her when the heavens are bare,
14 Waters on a starry night
15 Are beautiful and fair;
16 The sunshine is a glorious birth;
17 But yet I know, where'er I go,
18That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
3
19Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
20 And while the young lambs bound
21 As to the tabor's sound,
22To me alone there came a thought of grief:
23A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
24 And I again am strong:
25The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
26No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
27I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
28 The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
29 And all the earth is gay;
30 Land and sea
31 Give themselves up to jollity,
32 And with the heart of May
33 Doth every Beast keep holiday—
34 Thou Child of Joy,
35Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy!
4
36Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
37 Ye to each other make; I see
38The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
39 My heart is at your festival,
40 My head hath its coronal,
41The fullness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
42 Oh evil day! if I were sullen
43 While Earth herself is adorning,
44 This sweet May morning,
45 And the Children are culling
46 On every side,
47In a thousand valleys far and wide,
48 Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
49And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm—
50 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
51 —But there's a Tree, of many, one,
52A single Field which I have looked upon,
53Both of them speak of something that is gone:
54 The Pansy at my feet
55 Doth the same tale repeat:
56Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
57Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
5
58Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
59The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
60 Hath had elsewhere its setting,
61 And cometh from afar:
62 Not in entire forgetfulness,
63 And not in utter nakedness,
64But trailing clouds of glory do we come
65 From God, who is our home:
66Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
67Shades of the prison-house begin to close
68 Upon the growing Boy
69But he
70Beholds the light, and whence it flows,
71 He sees it in his joy;
72The Youth, who daily farther from the east
73 Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
74 And by the vision splendid
75 Is on his way attended;
76At length the Man perceives it die away,
77And fade into the light of common day.
6
78Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
79Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
80 And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
81 And no unworthy aim,
82The homely Nurse doth all she can
83To make her foster child, her Inmate Man,
84 Forget the glories he hath known,
85And that imperial palace whence he came.
7
86Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
87A six years' Darling of a pygmy size!
88See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
89Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
90With light upon him from his father's eyes!
91See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
92Some fragment from his dream of human life,
93Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;
94 A wedding or a festival,
95 A mourning or a funeral;
96 And this hath now his heart,
97 And unto this he frames his song;
98 Then will he fit his tongue
99To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
100 But it will not be long
101 Ere this be thrown aside,
102 And with new joy and pride
103The little Actor cons another part;
104Filling from time to time his "humorous stage"
105With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
106That Life brings with her in her equipage;
107 As if his whole vocation
108 Were endless imitation.
8
109Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
110 Thy Soul's immensity;
111Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
112Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
113That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
114Haunted forever by the eternal mind—
115 Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
116 On whom those truths do rest,
117Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
118In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
119Thou, over whom thy Immortality
120Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
121A Presence which is not to be put by;
122Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
123Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
124Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
125The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
126Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
127Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
128And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
129Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
9
130 O joy! that in our embers
131 Is something that doth live,
132 That Nature yet remembers
133What was so fugitive!
134The thought of our past years in me doth breed
135Perpetual benediction: not indeed
136For that which is most worthy to be blest;
137Delight and liberty, the simple creed
138Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
139With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast—
140 Not for these I raise
141 The song of thanks and praise;
142 But for those obstinate questionings
143 Of sense and outward things,
144 Fallings from us, vanishings;
145 Blank misgivings of a Creature
146Moving about in worlds not realised,
147High instincts before which our mortal Nature
148Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised;
149 But for those first affections,
150 Those shadowy recollections,
151 Which, be they what they may,
152Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
153Are yet a master light of all our seeing;
154 Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
155Our noisy years seem moments in the being
156Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
157 To perish never;
158Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
159 Nor Man nor Boy,
160Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
161Can utterly abolish or destroy!
162 Hence in a season of calm weather
163 Though inland far we be,
164Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
165 Which brought us hither,
166 Can in a moment travel thither,
167And see the Children sport upon the shore,
168And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
10
169Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
170 And let the young Lambs bound
171 As to the tabor's sound!
172We in thought will join your throng,
173 Ye that pipe and ye that play,
174 Ye that through your hearts today
175 Feel the gladness of the May!
176What though the radiance which was once so bright
177Be now forever taken from my sight,
178 Though nothing can bring back the hour
179Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
180 We will grieve not, rather find
181 Strength in what remains behind;
182 In the primal sympathy
183 Which having been must ever be;
184 In the soothing thoughts that spring
185 Out of human suffering;
186 In the faith that looks through death,
187In years that bring the philosophic mind.
11
188And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
189Forebode not any severing of our loves!
190Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
191I only have relinquished one delight
192To live beneath your more habitual sway.
193I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
194Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
195The innocent brightness of a newborn Day
196 Is lovely yet;
197The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
198Do take a sober colouring from an eye
199That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
200Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
201Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
202Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
203To me the meanest flower that blows can give
204Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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.
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 passed away a glory from the earth.
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!
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 fullness 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?
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.
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.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' Darling of a pygmy 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.
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 forever 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!
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.
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 today
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now forever 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.
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 newborn 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.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to the actor Toby Jones give a powerful reading of the poem.
The Poem in Wordsworth's Hand — See a draft of the poem in Wordsworth's own handwriting, and learn more about how he wrote it.
My Heart Leaps Up — Read an analysis of the poem that Wordsworth quotes as his epigraph here—his earlier (and much shorter and simpler) exploration of the same themes. Compare and contrast!
A Brief Biography — Read a short biography of Wordsworth, and find links to more of his poems.
A Lecture on Wordsworth — Listen to Professor Jonathan Bate, an important scholar of Romanticism, explaining why Wordsworth's poetry was so revolutionary.