so i read it again

*Made possible by a little inspiration from Juliet

One summer evening (led by her) I found
A little boat tied to a willow tree
Within a rocky cave, its usual home.

the following lines of verse are the only ones i have

remembered and loved for any long period of time

(Isn't it beautiful how summer evenings lead all of us?

 They make it impossible to resist the warm air and late-setting sun)

Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in
Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth
And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice
Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on;

it was a normal day in English class:

"here is a poem--read it, talk about it"

(Stealth and troubled pleasure--the two

best descriptions for an act of thievery.
And the idea of mountain-echo voices is enchanting)

Leaving behind her still, on either side,
Small circles glittering idly in the moon,
Until they melted all into one track
Of sparkling light. 

i read it once and thought: hmm pretty, what does it mean?

(These lines are beautiful, circles

of light on a moonlit lake. Melting. Yes, I guess

now that I think about it, melting is exactly what they do)

                           But now, like one who rows,
Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point
With an unswerving line, I fixed my view
Upon the summit of a craggy ridge,
The horizon's utmost boundary; far above
Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.

i guess my classmates thought the same,

given their blank stares and "umms"

so i read it again

(the "but" worries me, something has changed.

He was looking back at the water, now his 
attention is on the horizon, the sky empty with stars. 

Nothing wrong with that . . . if it weren't for that pesky "but")

She was an elfin pinnace; lustily
I dipped my oars into the silent lake,
And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat
Went heaving through the water like a swan;

it was obvious i was missing the point

this poem meant something, and

i was just confused. what's the big deal, i naively wondered

(The mood has changed. Lustily? Heaving? 
What is this rower after?I'm starting to think the boat isn't 

the only thing being stolen this summer evening. There is something

else, something bigger on this rower's agenda)

When, from behind that craggy steep till then
The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Upreared its head. I struck and struck again,
And growing still in stature the grim shape
Towered up between me and the stars, and still,
For so it seemed, with purpose of its own
And measured motion like a living thing,
Strode after me. 

right here is where I lost meaning

a huge peak uprearing its head?

but mountains don't just come from nowhere and

chase down a lowly (though albeit greedy) man!

perhaps the metaphor was too much for me

(The climax, and one of the most powerful

descriptions of nature I've ever read. The unsuspecting man

delves too far into nature, and a new horizon is revealed.

Only, this peak towers and blocks the stars,
Nature in its purest form removes the comfort we seek.

She rears her huge head when someone tries
to steal a moment from her)

                          With trembling oars I turned,
And through the silent water stole my way
Back to the covert of the willow tree;
There in her mooring-place I left my bark,--
And through the meadows homeward went, in grave
And serious mood; but after I had seen
That spectacle, for many days, my brain
Worked with a dim and undetermined sense
Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts
There hung a darkness, call it solitude
Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes
Remained, no pleasant images of trees,
Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;
But huge and mighty forms, that do not live
Like living men, moved slowly through the mind
By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

okay, i thought. i think i get this
a man steals into nature, alone
and with every purpose of conquering,
overcoming, but then some big scary thing that I still don't understand happens, leaving
him unsure, and suddenly aware
there's more to Nature than he thought
and finally my teacher said, "okay class, let's talk about a new idea: the sublime"

(Edmund Burke said, "the mind is so entirely filled 

with its object, that it cannot entertain any other, 

nor by consequence reason on that object which employs it." 
And now the words that have never really left my mind since the first time I read this: 

"huge and mighty forms, that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind" 

I get this, I know this. I experience this every time I breach that place of awe and transcendence. How scary it is to feel so powerless in the face of a bigger dimension, and yet, it's these experiences I remember with wonder. Sometimes Wordsworth's huge peak rears its head at me, and I am both astonished and terrified--going back to real life after that feels so unnatural. So maybe that's why this poem sticks with me; these encounters with the sublime are a part of the human experience. They are as rare as they are transformative. And each time I read Wordsworth's words, those "huge and mighty forms move slowly through" my mind once more.