And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.
Ode: Intimations of Immortality
(e) In style Wordsworth presents a remarkable contrast, for he ranges from the sublime (as in the extract last quoted) to the ridiculous:
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
An old Man dwells, a little man,—
’Tis said he once was tall.
Full five-and-thirty years he lived