Memory and Tintern Abbey

I have read Lines Composed... once before for class, and in both readings I am struck both by the melancholy of reflection that is shown as well as the strange kind of revitalization that seems to come with age.
Though Wordsworth no can no longer frolic through the woods of his youth, he seems to have resolved himself to this fact and is able to achieve a similar (though more sober) kind of joy in his current aged state of reflection and slow observation. In the experiential moment of running through the woods and participating in the rituals of youth there is not time for reflection or appreciation, yet once infirmities overcome the senses and the mind only is left to us, then there is a replenishment of the soul and mind in remembering those moments. All this is well and good, yet what if the mind itself is degenerating as well?
Our memory is an imperfect vessel for the experiences and emotions of youth, so while we may have the feeling of being able to look back and replay moments past, in actuality these moments were not actually how we remember them. However, I believe that there is comfort in this too. Wordsworth looks back on his youth and sees only good; pastoral images of his youthful self dashing through fresh wilderness and cool stream, though nowhere does he mention the heartbreak that comes with education or the pangs of experience, thus it seems that perhaps his memory is somewhat skewed. I trust in this skewing, I choose to trust in the quiet treachery of memory to cause us to remember the good and slowly forget the bad and the neutral until finally our later years become dominated by the repetition of the mantra, "things used to be better," until finally it becomes true, and in our minds things truly were better.