Friday Poetry - May 25

Long time have human ignorance and guilt
Detained us, on what spectacles of woe
Compelled to look, and inwardly oppressed
With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts,
Confusion of the judgement, zeal decayed,
And lastly, utter loss of hope itself
And things to hope for! Not with these began
Our song, and not with these our song must end

Theirs is the language of the heavens, the power,
The thought, the image, and the silent joy
Words are but under-agents in their souls;
When they are grasping with their greatest strength,
They do not breathe among them: this I speak
In gratitude to God, Who feeds our hearts
For his own service; knoweth us, loveth us,
When we are unregarded by the world.

These salient words by Wordsworth in The Prelude, 1850, Book 12, invite us to explore beginnings and ends and all that’s in-between.