Through primrose tufts in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; _And ’tis my faith that every flower_ _Enjoys the air it breathes_. —— There is a blessing in the air Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field. —— One moment now may give us more Than years of toiling reason: Our minds shall drink at every pore The spirit of the season. _Some silent laws our hearts will wake,_ _Which they shall long obey:_ We for the year to come may take Our temper from to-day. But the most remarkable poem written at this period of Wordsworth’s life, is that on Tintern Abbey, “Lines Composed on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye.” We have here that spiritualization of nature, that mysterious sense of the Being pervading the whole universe of matter and mind, that feeling of the vital connection between all the various forms and kinds of creation, and that marriage of the soul of man with the visible universe, which constitute the depth and the charm of Wordsworth’s “divine philosophy.” After describing the landscape which he now revisits, he proceeds to develop the influence it has exerted on his spirit: These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me, As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye: But oft in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, _Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart_, And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration; feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps, As have no slight and trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened; _that serene and blessed mood,_ _In which the affections gently lead us on,_ _Until the breath of this corporeal frame,_ _And even the motion of our human blood_ _Almost suspended, we are laid asleep_ _In body, and become a living soul;_ _While with an eye made quiet by the power_ _Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,_ _We see into the life of things._