Personal Talk (Composed 1806 — Published 1807) by William Wordsworth (Poem, Summary, Paraphrase & Analysis)

 

Personal Talk (Composed 1806 — Published 1807)

by William Wordsworth

(Poem, Summary, Paraphrase & Analysis) 

Personal Talk

I

I am not One who much or oft delight

To season my fireside with personal talk,—

Of friends, who live within an easy walk,

Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight;

And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright,

Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk,

These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk

Painted on rich men’s floors, for one feast-night.

Better than such discourse doth silence long,

Long, barren silence, square with my desire;

To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,

In the loved presence of my cottage-fire,

And listen to the flapping of the flame,

Or kettle whispering its faint undersong.

 

II

“Yet life,” you say, “is life; we have seen and see,

And with a living pleasure we describe;

And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe

The languid mind into activity.

Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee

Are fostered by the comment and the gibe.”

Even be it so: yet still among your tribe,

Our daily world’s true Worldlings, rank not me!

Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies

More justly balanced; partly at their feet,

And part far from them:—sweetest melodies

Are those that are by distance made more sweet;

Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes,

He is a Slave; the meanest we can meet!

 

III

Wings have we—and as far as we can go

We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood,

Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood

Which with the lofty sanctifies the low.

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,

Are a substantial world, both pure and good:

Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,

Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

There find I personal themes, a plenteous store,

Matter wherein right voluble I am,

To which I listen with a ready ear;

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear,—

The gentle Lady married to the Moor;

And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.

 

IV

Nor can I not believe but that hereby

Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote

From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought,

Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie.

Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I

Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought:

And thus from day to day my little boat

Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably.

Blessings be with them—and eternal praise,

Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares—

The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs

Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!

Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs,

Then gladly would I end my mortal days.

 

Summary

William Wordsworth’s Personal Talk is a four-part poem in which the speaker outlines his personal habits, preferences, and way of living, presenting them with quiet precision. The poem unfolds as a series of reflections that reveal how he interacts with people, his environment, and the life of the mind.

In the first section, the speaker declares that he is not someone who often enjoys engaging in personal conversation. He does not find particular pleasure in filling his fireside hours with talk about friends who live nearby, neighbours he sees regularly, or acquaintances he meets by chance, including fashionable women or unmarried women whose youth is fading. Such people, to him, lose their appeal quickly, much like chalk figures drawn on a wealthy man’s floor that are meant to last only for a single evening’s celebration. He values instead the long stretches of silence that suit his desires—quiet moments without strong emotion, expectation, or purpose—spent by the warmth of his cottage fire, listening to the gentle sounds of the flames and the faint, whispering song of the kettle.

The second section acknowledges another view. He notes that some people say life should be enjoyed actively, that there is pleasure in observing and describing the world around them, and that even playful teasing or malicious wit can help stir a sluggish mind. They claim that sensible conversation, affection, mirth, and cheerfulness can be nurtured through such exchanges. While he admits that this may be so, he insists that he is not part of that “tribe” of worldly talkers. He finds that children have a more balanced world: part of it is immediate and close to them, and part of it is far away. The sweetest melodies, he says, are those made sweeter by distance. To him, a person whose mind is limited to what he sees with his own eyes is like a slave—the lowest kind that can be met.

In the third section, the speaker turns to the idea of the human capacity to travel in thought and imagination. People have “wings” and can find pleasure in many places—whether in wild, untouched landscapes, deep woods, the empty ocean, or the vast open sky. These settings can elevate humble experiences to something lofty. He considers dreams and books as entire worlds in themselves, both pure and good. Around them, happiness and leisure grow, bound with connections as strong as those between flesh and blood. In books, he finds personal subjects that he can speak about readily and listen to eagerly. He names two literary figures who are especially dear to him: the “gentle Lady married to the Moor” (Desdemona from Shakespeare’s Othello) and the “heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb” (from Spenser’s The Faerie Queene).

The fourth and final section reflects on the benefits of this chosen way of life. By living in this manner, the speaker feels he gains greatly. He remains distant from evil speech, never seeks out rancour, and avoids hearing malicious truths or lies. This distance gives him pleasant seasons in life, smooth emotions, agreeable conversations, and cheerful thoughts. His life is like a small boat resting peacefully in a harbour, gently rocking in safety. He closes by offering blessings and eternal praise to the poets, who have given humanity nobler loves and higher concerns, making people heirs to truth and pure delight through their poetry. He expresses a wish that his own name might one day be counted among theirs, in which case he would gladly bring his mortal life to a close.

 

Line-by-line Paraphrase

I

I am not One who much or oft delight

→ I am not a person who often takes pleasure

 

To season my fireside with personal talk,—

→ In filling my fireside hours with talk about people I know,

 

Of friends, who live within an easy walk,

→ About friends who live close enough to visit easily,

 

Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight;

→ Or neighbours I see regularly—either every day or every week;

 

And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright,

→ And as for acquaintances I meet by chance, including charming ladies,

 

Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk,

→ Young men, mothers, and unmarried women growing older without marrying,

 

These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk

→ All these lose their novelty for me, like chalk figures

 

Painted on rich men’s floors, for one feast-night.

→ That are drawn on the floors of wealthy homes for a single night’s celebration.

 

Better than such discourse doth silence long,

→ I prefer long periods of silence to such conversations,

 

Long, barren silence, square with my desire;

→ Long, empty silence, which suits my preference,

 

To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,

→ Sitting with no feelings, no expectations, and no goals,

 

In the loved presence of my cottage-fire,

→ Simply in the cherished presence of my cottage fire,

 

And listen to the flapping of the flame,

→ Listening to the flickering sounds of the fire,

 

Or kettle whispering its faint undersong.

→ Or to the soft, quiet murmuring of the kettle.

 

II

“Yet life,” you say, “is life; we have seen and see,

→ “But life,” you might say, “is meant to be lived; we have seen and continue to see it,

 

And with a living pleasure we describe;

→ And we enjoy describing it while it happens;

 

And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe

→ And playful teasing or harmless mischief only encourage

 

The languid mind into activity.

→ A lazy or dull mind to become active.

 

Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee

→ Good sense, love, and even laughter and cheerfulness

 

Are fostered by the comment and the gibe.”

→ Are encouraged by conversation and light-hearted jokes.”

 

Even be it so: yet still among your tribe,

→ That may be true, but even so, among your group,

 

Our daily world’s true Worldlings, rank not me!

→ Those who are truly worldly in everyday life should not count me among them!

 

Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies

→ Children are fortunate and strong; their world is

 

More justly balanced; partly at their feet,

→ More fairly divided—part of it is within their reach,

 

And part far from them:—sweetest melodies

→ And part is far away; the sweetest songs

 

Are those that are by distance made more sweet;

→ Are made even sweeter by being heard from a distance;

 

Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes,

→ A person whose mind is limited only to what his eyes see

 

He is a Slave; the meanest we can meet!

→ Is like a slave—the lowest kind of person we can encounter.

 

III

Wings have we—and as far as we can go

→ We have the ability to travel far—at least in thought—and wherever we go

 

We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood,

→ We may find enjoyment in wild lands and forests,

 

Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood

→ Or in the empty ocean and open sky, which sustain

 

Which with the lofty sanctifies the low.

→ A mood that makes humble things feel elevated.

 

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,

→ Dreams and books are each their own complete worlds, and we know that books

 

Are a substantial world, both pure and good:

→ Are a solid, enduring world, full of purity and goodness:

 

Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,

→ Around these, our happiness and leisure grow, tied to them

 

Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

→ With bonds as strong as those between living people.

 

There find I personal themes, a plenteous store,

→ In books I find many personal subjects to discuss,

 

Matter wherein right voluble I am,

→ Topics on which I can speak freely and fluently,

 

To which I listen with a ready ear;

→ And which I listen to with eager attention;

 

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear,—

→ Two examples are especially dear to me—

 

The gentle Lady married to the Moor;

→ The gentle lady who married the Moor (Desdemona in Othello),

 

And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.

→ And the heavenly Una with her pure white lamb (from The Faerie Queene).

 

IV

Nor can I not believe but that hereby

→ I cannot help but believe that in this way

 

Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote

→ I gain a great deal, because I live far away

 

From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought,

→ From gossip and slander; from bitterness, which I never seek,

 

Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie.

→ And from harmful truths or lies, which never reach me.

 

Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I

→ Because of this, I enjoy warm, pleasant times,

 

Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought:

→ Calm emotions, pleasant conversations, and happy thoughts:

 

And thus from day to day my little boat

→ And so, day after day, my life—like a small boat

 

Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably.

→ Rests peacefully in its harbour, gently rocking.

 

Blessings be with them—and eternal praise,

→ May blessings and eternal praise be given

 

Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares—

→ To those who gave us higher kinds of love and greater concerns—

 

The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs

→ The poets, who have made us inheritors on earth

 

Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!

→ Of truth and pure joy through their inspired verses!

 

Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs,

→ Oh, if only my name could be counted among theirs,

 

Then gladly would I end my mortal days.

→ Then I would gladly bring my life on earth to a close.

 

Analysis in Detail

William Wordsworth’s Personal Talk is a reflective and self-revealing poem in which the poet sets out his personal preferences, his stance toward social interaction, and his chosen way of life. Across four sections, the poem moves from statements of personal habit to broader meditations on imagination, literature, and the moral benefits of a quiet, inward-looking existence. The tone blends self-assurance with humility, and the language alternates between conversational ease and elevated poetic phrasing, underscoring the contrast between social bustle and private contemplation.

The first section begins almost as a confession. Wordsworth’s speaker admits he is not inclined to fill his leisure time with “personal talk” about friends, neighbours, or passing acquaintances. He presents these human connections as short-lived in their appeal, comparing them to chalk drawings made for a single evening’s festivity—decorations intended to be temporary. Instead of small talk or frequent social gatherings, he values “long, barren silence” beside the warmth of his cottage fire, finding contentment in the simple sounds of the flame and the whispering kettle. This opening establishes his preference for a self-contained domestic setting, marked by stillness and sensory quiet, as opposed to the noise and repetition of social conversation.

In the second section, the poem takes on a dialogic turn as the speaker addresses an imagined voice that argues for the pleasures of active social engagement. This counterpoint insists that life is to be enjoyed in the moment, that observing and describing the world is rewarding, and that even playful malice can awaken the mind. The benefits of such interaction, according to this view, include sharpened intellect, affection, and good humour. Wordsworth’s speaker concedes that this may be true for some, yet firmly rejects inclusion among these “worldlings.” He draws a parallel with children, whose lives are balanced between the immediate and the distant; their awareness of something beyond their reach enriches their experience. In contrast, those whose minds are limited to what they can see are described as slaves—people trapped by the narrow confines of their senses. This passage marks a subtle shift from personal habit to a philosophical statement about perception and inner freedom.

The third section expands the scope from the social world to the imaginative one. Wordsworth emphasizes that humans have “wings,” a metaphor for the mind’s capacity to travel, and that pleasure can be found not only in nature’s grandeur—wilderness, forests, ocean, and sky—but also in its ability to elevate humble things through lofty associations. Here, dreams and books are placed on equal footing as complete worlds in themselves, pure and sustaining. Books, in particular, are described as a “substantial world” in which leisure and happiness take root, bound as closely as living ties. The poet lists two fictional women—Desdemona from Shakespeare’s Othello and Una from Spenser’s The Faerie Queene—as examples of personal literary treasures. These references show that his preferred companionship comes not from everyday acquaintances, but from enduring characters of literature, whose virtues and symbolic resonance surpass the fleeting company of society.

The fourth and final section reflects on the moral and emotional rewards of such a life. By keeping himself apart from idle gossip, rancour, and the spread of lies, the poet avoids the mental unrest that such interactions often bring. Instead, he enjoys “genial seasons,” steady emotions, pleasant conversation, and cheerful thoughts. His life, likened to a small boat peacefully rocking in a safe harbour, is marked by stability and contentment. The closing lines shift from personal satisfaction to gratitude toward poets in general. He praises them for giving humanity “nobler loves” and “nobler cares” through their art, making readers inheritors of truth and joy. The poem ends with a personal wish—that his own name might one day be counted among theirs—an ambition that, if fulfilled, would make him willing to end his mortal life with contentment.

Overall, Personal Talk presents a layered self-portrait: part declaration of independence from the demands of social life, part celebration of literature and imagination, and part moral reflection on the benefits of a tranquil, self-directed existence. While the tone is often modest and conversational, the underlying vision is deeply principled, rooted in a Romantic belief in the sustaining power of solitude, art, and the inner life.