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Book III 1. Poet's feeling of unadaptedness at Cambridge
I was disturbed at times by prudent thoughts, Wishing to hope without a hope some fears About my future worldly maintenance, And, more than all, a strangeness in the mind, A feeling that I was not for that hour, Nor for that place. (77-82) 2. Poet's own words on the theme of this poem
Of genius, power, Creation and divinity itself I have been speaking, for my theme has been What passed within me. Not of outward things Done visibly for other minds, words, signs, Symbols or actions, but of my own heart Have I been speaking, and my youthful mind. Heavens! how awful is the might of souls, And what they do within themselves while yet The yoke of earth is new to them, the world Nothing but a wild field where they were sown. This is, in truth, heroic argument-, This genuine prowess, which I wished to touch With hand however weak, but in the main It lies far hidden from the reach of words. (173-187) 3. Poet's life at Cambridge like an idle roamer in a museum
Of these and other kindred notices I cannot say what portion is in truth The naked recollection of that time, And what may rather have been called to life By after-meditation. But delight That, in an easy temper lulled asleep, Is still with innocence its own reward, This was not wanting. Carelessly I roamed As through a wide museum from whose stores A casual rarity is singled out And has its brief perusal, then gives way To others, all supplanted in their turn; (621-623)
 
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