The Prelude is a long autobiographical poem in blank verse that Wordsworth addressed to his friend Coleridge. Its subject, named in the subtitle, is the growth of a poet's mind. The poet sets out to record how nature and his own experience shaped the powers that let him become a writer, treating the inner life as a story worth the telling.
The early books return to childhood and school years in the Lake District. Wordsworth gathers moments that seemed small at the time but left a lasting mark: snaring birds on the moonlit heights, skating, and a night when he rowed out in a borrowed boat and a great dark peak seemed to stride after him across the water. He calls this a fair seed-time for his soul, fostered alike by beauty and by fear.
He then follows his education outward. There are restless, half-disappointing years at Cambridge, a summer crossing of the Alps where imagination overwhelms him in a mountain pass, and a stretch of life in London, where the crowd and spectacle leave him with a sense of blank confusion. Through all of it he is testing how the love of nature formed in childhood holds up against the wider human world.
The French Revolution is the turning point. Wordsworth had welcomed it with joy, feeling it bliss to be alive in that dawn. The Terror and the drift toward empire break that hope. Demanding formal proof for every moral belief, he loses all conviction and, sick and wearied out, gives up moral questions in despair. This is the lowest point of the poem.
Recovery is gradual and quiet. His sister, the steadying influence of those he loves, and above all a return to nature lead him back to himself. In the closing books he names the spots of time that renew the mind, and on Mount Snowdon he sees in a moonlit sea of mist an emblem of the imaginative mind itself. The poem ends with confidence that such minds can teach others, for the mind of man can become more beautiful than the earth it lives on.