Nutting
by William Wordsworth 
 
 It seems a day
 
(I speak of one from many singled out)
 
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
 
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
 
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
5
With a huge wallet o’er my shoulders slung,
 
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
 
Tow’rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
 
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
 
Which for that service had been husbanded,
10
By exhortation of my frugal Dame —
 
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
 
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, — and, in truth,
 
More ragged than need was!  O’er pathless rocks,
 
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
15
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
 
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
 
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
 
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
 
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
20
A virgin scene! — A little while I stood,
 
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
 
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
 
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
 
The banquet; — or beneath the trees I sate
25
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
 
A temper known to those, who, after long
 
And weary expectation, have been blest
 
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
 
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
30
The violets of five seasons re-appear
 
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
 
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
 
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
 
And — with my cheek on one of those green stones
35
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
 
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep —
 
I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound,
 
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
 
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
40
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
 
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
 
And on the vacant air.  Then up I rose,
 
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
 
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
45
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
 
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
 
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
 
Confound my present feelings with the past;
 
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
50
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
 
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
 
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky. —
 
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
 
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
55
Touch — for there is a spirit in the woods.
  
 
 
wallet — a bag or knapsack
 
nutting-crook — a long stick, curved into a hook at the end and used for pulling nuts down from trees
 
cast-off weeds — old, often so-called “hand-me-down” clothes
 
Dame — Mrs. Ann Tyson, with whom Wordsworth and his brothers stayed while away at Hawkshead Grammar School between the ages of nine and seventeen.  Wordsworth’s mother had died when he was seven and his father when he was thirteen.
 
hazels — hazel trees are the source of hazelnuts
 
sate — sat (but also perhaps punning on sate, meaning to satisfy an appetite)
 
temper — mood
 
indifferent — unfeeling, unthinking, uncaring, insensate
 
Maiden — In an unpublished introduction to the poem, Wordsworth mentions a “Lucy” who is presumably its implied audience.