or not, as I was with my sister
when I first espied those dancing or golden daffodils.
I wandered lonely, therefore, in imagination
or in conflation of two separate occasions.
Whatever, in the retelling, the poeticising,
something changed and some things remained.
There was a trigger event I recalled
two years after, when re-reading my sister's journal.
The event was real but mediated through memory,
imagery, mastery of descriptive language,
becoming magnified with meaning
to live and breathe beyond the page
as re-enacted sacrament in which you now accompany me
on hills, no longer lonely,
for you are with me
as you imaginatively recreate
this speech-act-event, this poem.
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William Wordsworth - I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud.
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