one cerulean blue

Penultimate entry  in the "going backwards through the Poets Laureate" series ...

... the verse below is a manuscript fragment, written by William Wordsworth, which was apparently intended for his epic masterpiece; The Prelude - it's taken from the pictured 1983 edited-collection.

Wordsworth was Poet Laureate from 1843 through to his death in 1850.

Robert Southey tomorrow, and then a break from the poetry; as I really can't find any Henry James Pye poems in my collection :-(


On Boundlessness

I seemed to learn,
That what we see of forms and images
Which float along our minds, and what we feel
Of active or recognisable thought,
Prospectiveness, or intellect, or will,
Not only is not worthy to be deemed
Our being, to be prized as what we are,
But is the very littleness of life.
Such consciousness I deem but accidents,
Relapses from the one interior life
That lives in all things, sacred from the touch
Of that false secondary power by which
In weakness we create distinctions, then
Believe that all our puny boundaries are things
Which we perceive and not which we have made;
 — In which all beings live with god, themselves
Are god, existing in the mighty whole,
As undistinguishable as the cloudless East
At noon is from the cloudless West, when all
The hemisphere is one cerulean blue.

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William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)

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