Synge describes a long day of walking through the Wicklow countryside, deliberately heading away from cities and other people. The speaker trades human company for sunlight, moonlight, stars, flowers, and birds. He becomes so absorbed in the landscape—mountains, moors, glens, and fens—that ordinary language starts to fade, and he only half remembers human words. The feeling is one of deep, quiet immersion. There is freedom in being alone, but also a gentle strangeness, as if the natural world has become his real companion. The mood is calm and open, with a touch of wildness: not lonely exactly, but removed, like standing just outside the usual human world and being content to stay there.
Prelude — Summary
Still south I went and west and south again, Through Wicklow from the morning till the night, And far from cities, and the sights of men, Lived with the sunshine, and the moon’s delight. I knew the stars, the flowers, and the birds, The grey and wintry sides of many glens, And did but half remember human words, In converse with the mountains, moors, and fens.