When To The Attractions Of The Busy World
WHEN,
to
the
attractions
of
the
busy
world,
Preferring
studious
leisure,
I
had
chosen
A
habitation
in
this
peaceful
Vale,
Sharp
season
followed
of
continual
storm
In
deepest
winter;
and,
from
week
to
week,
Pathway,
and
lane,
and
public
road,
were
clogged
With
frequent
showers
of
snow.
Upon
a
hill
At
a
short
distance
from
my
cottage,
stands
A
stately
Fir-grove,
whither
I
was
wont
To
hasten,
for
I
found,
beneath
the
roof
Of
that
perennial
shade,
a
cloistral
place
Of
refuge,
with
an
unincumbered
floor.
Here,
in
safe
covert,
on
the
shallow
snow,
And,
sometimes,
on
a
speck
of
visible
earth,
The
redbreast
near
me
hopped;
nor
was
I
loth
To
sympathise
with
vulgar
coppice
birds
That,
for
protection
from
the
nipping
blast,
Hither
repaired.--A
single
beech-tree
grew
Within
this
grove
of
firs!
and,
on
the
fork
Of
that
one
beech,
appeared
a
thrush's
nest;
A
last
year's
nest,
conspicuously
built
At
such
small
elevation
from
the
ground
As
gave
sure
sign
that
they,
who
in
that
house
Of
nature
and
of
love
had
made
their
home
Amid
the
fir-trees,
all
the
summer
long
Dwelt
in
a
tranquil
spot.
And
oftentimes,
A
few
sheep,
stragglers
from
some
mountain-flock,
Would
watch
my
motions
with
suspicious
stare,
From
the
remotest
outskirts
of
the
grove,--
Some
nook
where
they
had
made
their
final
stand,
Huddling
together
from
two
fears--the
fear
Of
me
and
of
the
storm.
Full
many
an
hour
Here
did
I
lose.
But
in
this
grove
the
trees
Had
been
so
thickly
planted,
and
had
thriven
In
such
perplexed
and
intricate
array;
That
vainly
did
I
seek,
beneath
their
stems
A
length
of
open
space,
where
to
and
fro
My
feet
might
move
without
concern
or
care;
And,
baffled
thus,
though
earth
from
day
to
day
Was
fettered,
and
the
air
by
storm
disturbed,
I
ceased
the
shelter
to
frequent,--and
prized,
Less
than
I
wished
to
prize,
that
calm
recess.
The
snows
dissolved,
and
genial
Spring
returned
To
clothe
the
fields
with
verdure.
Other
haunts
Meanwhile
were
mine;
till,
one
bright
April
day,
By
chance
retiring
from
the
glare
of
noon
To
this
forsaken
covert,
there
I
found
A
hoary
pathway
traced
between
the
trees,
And
winding
on
with
such
an
easy
line
Along
a
natural
opening,
that
I
stood
Much
wondering
how
I
could
have
sought
in
vain
For
what
was
now
so
obvious.
To
abide,
For
an
allotted
interval
of
ease,
Under
my
cottage-roof,
had
gladly
come
From
the
wild
sea
a
cherished
Visitant;
And
with
the
sight
of
this
same
path--begun,
Begun
and
ended,
in
the
shady
grove,
Pleasant
conviction
flashed
upon
my
mind
That,
to
this
opportune
recess
allured,
He
had
surveyed
it
with
a
finer
eye,
A
heart
more
wakeful;
and
had
worn
the
track
By
pacing
here,
unwearied
and
alone,
In
that
habitual
restlessness
of
foot
That
haunts
the
Sailor
measuring
o'er
and
o'er
His
short
domain
upon
the
vessel's
deck,
While
she
pursues
her
course
through
the
dreary
sea.
When
thou
hadst
quitted
Esthwaite's
pleasant
shore,
And
taken
thy
first
leave
of
those
green
hills
And
rocks
that
were
the
play-ground
of
thy
youth,
Year
followed
year,
my
Brother!
and
we
two,
Conversing
not,
knew
little
in
what
mould
Each
other's
mind
was
fashioned;
and
at
length,
When
once
again
we
met
in
Grasmere
Vale,
Between
us
there
was
little
other
bond
Than
common
feelings
of
fraternal
love.
But
thou,
a
Schoolboy,
to
the
sea
hadst
carried
Undying
recollections!
Nature
there
Was
with
thee;
she,
who
loved
us
both,
she
still
Was
with
thee;
and
even
so
didst
thou
become
A
'silent'
Poet;
from
the
solitude
Of
the
vast
sea
didst
bring
a
watchful
heart
Still
couchant,
an
inevitable
ear,
And
an
eye
practised
like
a
blind
man's
touch.
--Back
to
the
joyless
Ocean
thou
art
gone;
Nor
from
this
vestige
of
thy
musing
hours
Could
I
withhold
thy
honoured
name,--and
now
I
love
the
fir-grove
with
a
perfect
love.
Thither
do
I
withdraw
when
cloudless
suns
Shine
hot,
or
wind
blows
troublesome
and
strong;
And
there
I
sit
at
evening,
when
the
steep
Of
Silver-how,
and
Grasmere's
peaceful
lake,
And
one
green
island,
gleam
between
the
stems
Of
the
dark
firs,
a
visionary
scene!
And,
while
I
gaze
upon
the
spectacle
Of
clouded
splendour,
on
this
dream-like
sight
Of
solemn
loveliness,
I
think
on
thee,
My
Brother,
and
on
all
which
thou
hast
lost.
Nor
seldom,
if
I
rightly
guess,
while
Thou,
Muttering
the
verses
which
I
muttered
first
Among
the
mountains,
through
the
midnight
watch
Art
pacing
thoughtfully
the
vessel's
deck
In
some
far
region,
here,
while
o'er
my
head,
At
every
impulse
of
the
moving
breeze,
The
fir-grove
murmurs
with
a
sea-like
sound,
Alone
I
tread
this
path;--for
aught
I
know,
Timing
my
steps
to
thine;
and,
with
a
store
Of
undistinguishable
sympathies,
Mingling
most
earnest
wishes
for
the
day
When
we,
and
others
whom
we
love,
shall
meet
A
second
time,
in
Grasmere's
happy
Vale.
William Wordsworth
The English poet William Wordsworth is considered to be one of the most important literary figures in modern history, as well as one of the leading purveyors of the Romantic Movement. He was born in 1770, in Cumbria, and was one of four children. Over the course of his life, he continued to return to the Lake District, and eventually passed away in Cumbria, in 1850. The influence of William Wordsworth should not be underestimated, as he not only helped to kick-start the Romantic Age, he also formed half of one of the most famous literary partnerships in history. The friendship that he shared with fellow poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge is now the stuff of legend, as is the subsequent fallout after the friendship fell apart.