To – – – – –
Go—you may call it madness, folly; You shall not chase my gloom away. There’s such a charm in melancholy, I would not, if I could, be gay. Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure That fills my bosom when I sigh, You would not rob me of a treasure Monarchs are too poor to buy. […]
Yes, ’tis the pulse of life! my fears were vain!
Yes, ’tis the pulse of life! my fears were vain! I wake, I breathe, and am myself again. Still in this nether world; no seraph yet! Nor walks my spirit, when the sun is set, With troubled step to haunt the fatal board, Where I died last—by poison or the sword; Blanching each honest cheek […]
Sonnet to Italy by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
For thee, Ansonia! Nature’s bounteous hand, Luxuriant spreads around her blooming stores; Profusion laughs o’er all the glowing land, And softest breezes from thy myrtle-shores. Yet though for thee, unclouded suns diffuse Their genial radiance o’er thy blushing plains; Though in thy fragrant groves the sportive muse Delights to pour her wild, enchanted strains; Though […]
Ode to Superstition
[lwptoc] ODE TO SUPERSTITION.[1] I. 1. Hence, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence! Thy chain of adamant can bind That little world, the human mind, And sink its noblest powers to impotence. Wake the lion’s loudest roar, Clot his shaggy mane with gore, With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine; Meek is his […]
An Epistle to A Friend
AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. Villula,……….et pauper agelle, Me tibi, et hos unâ mecum, et quos semper amavi, Commendo. PREFACE. Every reader turns with pleasure to those passages of Horace, and Pope, and Boileau, which describe how they lived and where they dwelt; and which, being interspersed among their satirical writings, derive a secret and […]
The Pleasures of Memory
Twilight’s soft dews steal o’er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Still’d is the hum that thro’ the hamlet broke, When round the ruins of their antient oak The peasants flock’d to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols clos’d the busy day. Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no […]
Oh could my Mind
Oh could my Mind, unfolded in my page, Enlighten climes and mould a future age; There as it glow’d, with noblest frenzy fraught, Dispense the treasures of exalted thought; To Virtue wake the pulses of the heart, And bid the tear of emulation start! Oh could it still, thro’ each succeeding year, My life, my […]
Italy
There is a glorious City in the Sea. The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing; and the salt sea-weed Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, Lead to her gates. The path lies o’er the Sea, Invisible; and from the land […]
A Slumber did my Spirit Seal by William Wordsworth
A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees. ————— The End And that’s the End […]
A Sketch by William Wordsworth
The little hedgerow birds, That peck along the road, regard him not. He travels on, and in his face, his step, His gait, is one expression; every limb, His look and bending figure, all bespeak A man who does not move with pain, but moves With thought. -He is insensibly subdued To settled quiet: he […]
A Poet’s Epitaph by William Wordsworth
Art thou a Statist in the van Of public conflicts trained and bred? -First learn to love one living man; ‘Then’ may’st thou think upon the dead. A Lawyer art thou?-draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face. Art thou a Man […]
A Poet! He Hath Put His Heart To School by William Wordsworth
A poet!-He hath put his heart to school, Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff Which art hath lodged within his hand-must laugh By precept only, and shed tears by rule. Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff, And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool, In fear that else, when Critics grave […]
A Parsonage In Oxfordshire by William Wordsworth
Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends, Is marked by no distinguishable line; The turf unites, the pathways intertwine; And, wheresoe’er the stealing footstep tends, Garden, and that domain where kindred, friends, And neighbours rest together, here confound Their several features, mingled like the sound Of many waters, or as evening blends With shady night. Soft […]
A Morning Exercise by William Wordsworth
FANCY, who leads the pastimes of the glad, Full oft is pleased a wayward dart to throw; Sending sad shadows after things not sad, Peopling the harmless fields with signs of woe: Beneath her sway, a simple forest cry Becomes an echo of man’s misery. Blithe ravens croak of death; and when the owl Tries […]
A Jewish Family In A Small Valley Opposite St. Goar, Upon The Rhine by William Wordsworth
GENIUS of Raphael! if thy wings Might bear thee to this glen, With faithful memory left of things To pencil dear and pen, Thou would’st forego the neighbouring Rhine, And all his majesty– A studious forehead to incline O’er this poor family. The Mother–her thou must have seen, In spirit, ere she came To dwell […]
A Gravestone Upon The Floor In The Cloisters Of Worcester Cathedral by William Wordsworth
“MISERRIMUS,” and neither name nor date, Prayer, text, or symbol, graven upon the stone; Nought but that word assigned to the unknown, That solitary word–to separate From all, and cast a cloud around the fate Of him who lies beneath. Most wretched one, ‘Who’ chose his epitaph?–Himself alone Could thus have dared the grave to […]
A Fact, And An Imagination, Or, Canute And Alfred, On The Seashore by William Wordsworth
THE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair, Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty, To aid a covert purpose, cried–“O ye Approaching Waters of the deep, that share With this green isle my fortunes, come not where Your Master’s throne is set.”–Deaf was the Sea; Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree Less than they heed […]
A Complaint by William Wordsworth
There is a change-and I am poor; Your love hath been, nor long ago, A fountain at my fond heart’s door, Whose only business was to flow; And flow it did; not taking heed Of its own bounty, or my need. What happy moments did I count! Blest was I then all bliss above! Now, […]
“Young England–What Is Then Become Of Old” by William Wordsworth
YOUNG ENGLAND–what is then become of Old Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead, Dead to the very name? Presumption fed On empty air! That name will keep its hold In the true filial bosom’s inmost fold For ever.–The Spirit of Alfred, at the head Of all who for her rights watched, toiled […]
Yew-Trees by William Wordsworth
There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore: Not loathe to furnish weapons for the Bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland’s heaths; or those that crossed the sea And drew their sounding bows […]
“Yes! Thou Art Fair, Yet Be Not Moved” by William Wordsworth
YES! thou art fair, yet be not moved To scorn the declaration, That sometimes I in thee have loved My fancy’s own creation. Imagination needs must stir; Dear Maid, this truth believe, Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive. Be pleased that nature made thee fit To feed my heart’s devotion, By […]
Yes, It Was The Mountain Echo by William Wordsworth
YES, it was the mountain Echo, Solitary, clear, profound, Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, Giving to her sound for sound! Unsolicited reply To a babbling wanderer sent; Like her ordinary cry, Like–but oh, how different! Hears not also mortal Life? Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! Slaves of folly, love, or strife– Voices of two different […]
Yarrow Visited by William Wordsworth
And is this -Yarrow? -This the stream Of which my fancy cherished So faithfully, a waking dream, An image that hath perished? O that some minstrel’s harp were near To utter notes of gladness And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness! Yet why? -a silvery current flows With uncontrolled […]
Yarrow Unvisited by William Wordsworth
. From Stirling castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my “winsome Marrow ,” “Whate’er betide, we’ll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow.” “Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, Who […]
Yarrow Revisited by William Wordsworth
The gallant Youth, who may have gained, Or seeks, a “winsome Marrow,” Was but an Infant in the lap When first I looked on Yarrow; Once more, by Newark’s Castle-gate Long left without a warder, I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Great Minstrel of the Border! Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, […]
Written With A Slate Pencil On A Stone, On The Side Of The Mountain Of Black Comb by William Wordsworth
STAY, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs On this commodious Seat! for much remains Of hard ascent before thou reach the top Of this huge Eminence,–from blackness named, And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land, A favourite spot of tournament and war! But thee may no such boisterous visitants Molest; may gentle breezes fan […]
Written Upon A Blank Leaf In “The Complete Angler.” by William Wordsworth
WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort To reverend watching of each still report That Nature utters from her rural shrine. Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline, He found the longest summer day […]
Written In Very Early Youth by William Wordsworth
CALM is all nature as a resting wheel. The kine are couched upon the dewy grass; The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is cropping audibly his later meal: Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal O’er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky. Now, in this blank of things, a harmony, […]
Written in March by William Wordsworth
The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, […]
Written in London. September, 1802 by William Wordsworth
O Friend! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom! – We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among […]
Written In Germany On One Of The Coldest Days Of The Century by William Wordsworth
A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse! Let me have the song of the kettle; And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse That gallops away with such fury and force On this dreary dull plate of black metal. See that Fly,–a disconsolate creature! perhaps A child of the field or the […]
Written In A Blank Leaf Of Macpherson’s Ossian by William Wordsworth
OFT have I caught, upon a fitful breeze, Fragments of far-off melodies, With ear not coveting the whole, A part so charmed the pensive soul. While a dark storm before my sight Was yielding, on a mountain height Loose vapours have I watched, that won Prismatic colours from the sun; Nor felt a wish that […]
With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh by William Wordsworth
With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. A goodly vessel did I then espy Come like a giant from a haven broad; And lustily along the bay she […]
With How Sad Steps, O Moon, Thou Climb’st the Sky by William Wordsworth
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb’st the sky, “How silently, and with how wan a face!” Where art thou? Thou so often seen on high Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph’s race! Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath’s a sigh Which they would stifle, move at such a pace! The northern Wind, to call […]
Who Fancied What A Pretty Sight by William Wordsworth
WHO fancied what a pretty sight This Rock would be if edged around With living snow-drops? circlet bright! How glorious to this orchard-ground! Who loved the little Rock, and set Upon its head this coronet? Was it the humour of a child? Or rather of some gentle maid, Whose brows, the day that she was […]
Where Lies The Land To Which Yon Ship Must Go? by William Wordsworth
WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day, Festively she puts forth in trim array; Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow? What boots the inquiry?–Neither friend nor foe She cares for; let her travel where she may, She finds familiar names, a […]
When To The Attractions Of The Busy World by William Wordsworth
WHEN, to the attractions of the busy world, Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen A habitation in this peaceful Vale, Sharp season followed of continual storm In deepest winter; and, from week to week, Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill At a short distance from […]
“When I Have Borne In Memory” by William Wordsworth
WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student’s bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country!–am I to be blamed? Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my […]
Weak Is The Will Of Man, His Judgement Blind by William Wordsworth
‘WEAK is the will of Man, his judgment blind; ‘Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; ‘Heavy is woe;–and joy, for human-kind, ‘A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!’ Thus might ‘he’ paint our lot of mortal days Who wants the glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind, And colour life’s dark cloud with orient […]
Water-Fowl Observed Frequently Over The Lakes Of Rydal And Grasmere by William Wordsworth
MARK how the feathered tenants of the flood, With grace of motion that might scarcely seem Inferior to angelical, prolong Their curious pastime! shaping in mid air (And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars High as the level of the mountain-tops) A circuit ampler than the lake beneath– Their own domain; but ever, while intent […]