If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for beside that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who dwell within it, even while they breathe,
Move with a motion of their own, like clouds
That rack across the wind yet keep their place;
So in that valley, by the mountain’s side,
Dwelt Michael, such a man as it might be
Of men the eldest.
It is said he wore
A garment of coarse frieze, which was the shape
Of that which he was born in; and that he,
As years advanced, had gradually put
Off the old man, and, in his place, assumed
A character more stately; of the world
And of the life he lived, he was content;
A Shepherd who lived solitary, sole,
In the dale, his age was full of peace,
And yet his heart was stirred.
He had not passed
His threescore years and ten, but he was strong
And hale; and in his heart there was a kind
Of resolution which can never die.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And in his shepherd’s calling he was prompt
And watchful more than ordinary men.
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds,
Of blasts of every tone; and oftentimes,
When others heeded not, he heard the south
Make subterraneous music, like the noise
Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills.
The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock
Bethought him, and he to himself would say,
“The winds are now devising work for me!”
And truly, at all times, the storm, that drives
The traveller to a shelter, summoned him
Up to the mountains: he had been alone
Amid the heart of many thousand mists,
That came to him, and left him, on the heights.
So lived he, even till his eightieth year;
He was a man whom no one could have passed
Without a wish to know him better; for
His heart and face were full of charity.
And when he spake, though very slow and grave,
His words had weight, and every gesture made
His words more audible; his very silence
Was like a language that could tell you all
The meaning of a thoughtful mind and soul.
Of few delights, yet a few simple ones,
His daily life was full: in him was mildness
And patience, and the love of ancient things.
The pleasure which there is in life itself
He had not learned to know; and peace was his.
They had one son, the only child of many,
And the last of all their generation.
He was named Luke, full of promise, as a tree
Whose sapling buds have never been destroyed
By blight or storm. The old man loved him well,
And the old woman loved him not less well.
For they had but one lamb between them both,
And that was their son Luke.
And now, when he
Was in the height of manhood, daily labours
Were fewer, for his thriving industry
Supplied his need, and so their days went on
In comfort; and so, little by little, he
And his good dame had built the perfect nest
Of comfort for their age.
It chanced one morning,
That Michael, from the field returning, sat
Beside the door; and, while he rested thus,
The sun shone on his grey head; his staff lay
Upon his knees; and in his hand he held
A book, the Bible of the old family.
And thus his melancholy tale began.
“There was a parcel of land,
The field beyond the orchard, which we kept
By a long lease, and which has always been
In that same name. But now the owner’s dead,
And for the first time we, the tenants, hear
That it is to be sold. The land is dear
To me, for that same field was dearer far
Than life itself; I will not lose the ground
That fed my sheep and gave my children bread.”
Thus, for the first time, Michael in his grief
Began to think of means: to gather gold;
And he said, “My son, to-morrow we will go
Together to the fair; you shall not need
To tell your mother of it till we come
Back from the fair; for she must learn by sight
That which will please her heart.”
But soon the man
Became aware that all his savings were
Too little; and he saw that he must part
With something dear to him: he thought of the field,
The small enclosed ground by the brook.
And yet, while thus he mused, his heart misgave him,
For he loved that piece of ground. “The poor man’s lot
Is hard!” he said; “to him no fields belong;
He has no title-deed; he owns no house
But what he builds, no bread but what he earns;
And now he must lose this too!”
Thus, with these thoughts,
The old man toiled, and little by little saved,
And every year his hoard increased, till now
He had enough to make his purchase good.
When suddenly a letter came,
Bidding the son repair to a great city,
And there to enter into service with
A kinsman.
Michael’s heart was torn in twain.
To part with Luke was pain, but still he saw
That it was needful.
So he said, “My son,
This is a sorrow to me, but we must
Obey necessity; and you must go.
And should you prosper, then remember me.”
The morning came,
The morning of his parting, and the son
Looked up, and saw the old man’s tears; he tried
To cheer him, and to say farewell, but words
Failed him; and down he sunk upon his knees,
And in that posture, clasping his old father’s knees,
He bade him bless him.
They walked together
To the sheepfold, where for many years
Their love had been expressed by mutual care.
And there the father said, “My son, to-night,
When I shall think of thee, I shall remember
That I have set my hand to this same work.”
Then, laying down his tools, he took a stone
And set it up by Luke.
And Luke said, “Father,
I will remember this.”
And they embraced;
The son departed; and the old man turned
Homeward.
And never lifted up his eyes again
To the blue hills; for he was left alone.
And though the old man lived another year,
He never more was seen among the rocks,
Nor in the fields, nor by the fireside.
He died alone, and his estate remains
Unsold, the field unplanted. But the sheepfold stands:
For, though the stones were loose, the work was framed
So well, that it was perfect when he died.
And if you go to Green-head Ghyll, you’ll find
The ruin of that sheepfold, still half-built,
A monument of faithful love and grief.
Originally published in Lyrical Ballads (1800) by William Wordsworth. Public domain.
Analysis
“Michael” stands among William Wordsworth’s most heartfelt pastoral poems. First published in the 1800 edition of *Lyrical Ballads*, it presents the quiet tragedy of a shepherd whose life embodies the virtues of honesty, endurance, and faith in labor. Through its rural simplicity, the poem elevates ordinary experience to the realm of moral reflection, illustrating Wordsworth’s vision that the humblest lives contain the deepest truths of the human spirit.
Plot Overview
he poem begins with an invitation to leave the “public way” and enter the remote valley of Green-head Ghyll, a landscape that mirrors the inner life of its solitary inhabitant, Michael. He lives peacefully with his wife and only son, Luke, tending his flocks and living by the rhythms of nature. When financial pressure threatens his livelihood, Michael decides to sell part of his land and sends Luke to the city to work for a relative.
The father and son part tenderly, vowing to finish together a sheepfold that Michael had begun as a symbol of their bond. But Luke never returns, lost to the moral and social corruption of urban life. Michael dies alone, and the unfinished sheepfold remains — a monument to love, labor, and loss.
Themes and Meaning
At its core, “Michael” is a meditation on the relationship between humanity and nature. Wordsworth portrays the shepherd’s life as one of spiritual integrity, rooted in the soil and guided by the cycles of the earth. Michael’s understanding of “the meaning of all winds” reflects his intimate harmony with the natural world.
Yet the poem also mourns the intrusion of modern economic forces into this pastoral peace. Luke’s departure to the city represents the moral erosion of industrial society — the breaking of the natural order that once sustained family and community. The poem thus becomes an elegy for a vanishing world, where work was tied to moral purpose and where identity was shaped by place.
Symbolism of the Sheepfold
The sheepfold that Michael and Luke begin to build is one of Wordsworth’s most powerful symbols. It embodies the shepherd’s faith in the continuity of work and family — a visible covenant between generations. When Luke leaves, the sheepfold remains unfinished, transforming it into a monument of broken hopes. The ruined stones come to signify permanence in loss: a record of human devotion and the fragility of earthly purpose.
In this way, the landscape becomes moral architecture. Nature, for Wordsworth, is not indifferent but receptive; it preserves memory and emotion long after human life has passed away. The poem closes with the image of the sheepfold still standing, its incompleteness speaking more eloquently than any finished work.
Style and Language
“Michael” exemplifies Wordsworth’s poetic revolution — the use of simple, unadorned language to convey deep emotion. Its diction is plain, its tone restrained, and its rhythms follow the cadence of natural speech. This stylistic humility reinforces the poem’s moral vision: truth resides not in ornament or grandeur, but in sincerity.
The narrator’s direct address to the reader — guiding them into the valley and through the shepherd’s story — gives the poem the intimacy of lived experience. The natural imagery, grounded in specific details of sound, weather, and work, serves as a moral landscape in which human feeling finds its echo.
Philosophical Context
Beyond its pastoral surface, *“Michael”* reflects Wordsworth’s larger Romantic philosophy. It explores the tension between nature and civilization, faith and necessity, permanence and change. The poem suggests that industrial progress may advance material life while impoverishing moral and emotional existence.
Michael’s steadfast virtue, his communion with the land, and his tragic isolation embody the Romantic ideal of authenticity in a world losing its spiritual bearings. His life becomes an argument for rootedness — for living close to nature, guided by conscience rather than ambition.
Legacy and Significance
“Michael” remains a defining example of Wordsworth’s belief that poetry should speak to “the essential passions of the heart.” Its quiet pathos, moral clarity, and sympathy for rural life continue to resonate as a protest against the alienation of the modern world.
In its final image — the unfinished sheepfold enduring amid the hills — Wordsworth offers both elegy and hope: a vision that human goodness, once formed, leaves an enduring mark upon the earth.