from Resolution and IndependenceWilliam WordsworthIIAll things that love the sun are out of doors;The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moorsThe hare is running races in her mirth;And with her feet she from the plashy earthRaises a mist; that, glittering in the sun,Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
Yesterday I read this stanza, and when I reached the last line, the Poetry Shiver overcame me: a physical reaction, analogous to raised hackles or vertigo or the way my inner ear crackles when I hear certain pitches of sound. I think the Shiver must be caused by some sudden intersection of visual image, sonic power, and emotion--in this case, perhaps the vision of the hare in the glittering mist, the positioned repetition of run, and my own tightrope awareness of love and tragedy, built up to a terrifying level this week by the Lake family murders.
I wonder what you think about this stanza: do you find it merely pretty, or is more than that? Every time I reread it, I get the Shiver again.