Echoes
B. Wordsworth : theme of Love of Nature
Question : Discuss the theme of love of nature in B. Wordsworth ?
Answer: Love of nature is prominently seen in the story “B. Wordsworth” both by B. Wordsworth and the young boy.
From his very first appearance in the story, poet showed his love of nature as he wanted to watch the bess, residing in four small grue – grue palm trees in the narrators backyard. He told the narrator that he liked watching bees and asked him “Have you ever watched ants? And scorpions, and centipedes and congorees…?”
He also said that he can “watch a small flower like the morning glory and cry.”
He was fond of the natural surroundings as opposed to concrete city life. He liked to lie on the grass and watch the stars in the sky. He wanted the boy to share his love of nature with him.
One day when the boy was beaten by his mother for coming late, the boy being angry and hurt, left the house with a will never to come back, found solace from his new friend. B. Wordsworth, consoled the aggrieved boy and took him for a walk. They lay on the grass and watched the stars, Wordsworth introduced the boy to the unknown realms of stars and familiarised him with the constellation of Orion, the Hunter, which the narrator remembers even today.
Suddenly the boy felt he was big and great –
“I felt like nothing and at the same time I had never felt so big and great in all my life.”
The boy forgot all his pain and anger in the lap of nature, this shows the healing power of nature.
B. Wordsworth was so much in love with natural beauty that he kept his yard all green and bushy. Like his brother, White Wordsworth, he was romantic at his heart. In his yard there was a big mango tree,a coconut tree and a palm tree.
“The place looked wild , as though it wasn’t in the city at all.”
From his house one “couldn’t see all the big concrete houses in the street.”
B. Wordsworth was so much a part of nature that a year later his death , when the narrator walked along Alberto Street, the presence of brick and concrete everywhere marked his absence. His trees, his bushes were no longer there “it was just as though B. Wordsworth had never existed.”
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