September, 1819 by William Wordsworth
Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring; That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling. No faint and hesitating trill, Such tribute as to winter chill The lonely redbreast pays! Clear, loud, and lively is the din, From social warblers gathering in Their […]
September 1815 by William Wordsworth
WHILE not a leaf seems faded; while the fields, With ripening harvest prodigally fair, In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air, Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware; And whispers to the silent birds, “Prepare Against the threatening foe your […]
September 1, 1802 by William Wordsworth
WE had a female Passenger who came From Calais with us, spotless in array,– A white-robed Negro, like a lady gay, Yet downcast as a woman fearing blame; Meek, destitute, as seemed, of hope or aim She sate, from notice turning not away, But on all proffered intercourse did lay A weight of languid speech, […]
Scorn Not The Sonnet by William Wordsworth
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch’s wound; A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; With it Camöens soothed an exile’s grief; The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf Amid the […]
Say, What Is Honour?–‘Tis The Finest Sense by William Wordsworth
SAY, what is Honour?–‘Tis the finest sense Of ‘justice’ which the human mind can frame, Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim, And guard the way of life from all offence Suffered or done. When lawless violence Invades a Realm, so pressed that in the scale Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail, Honour is hopeful […]
Ruth by William Wordsworth
WHEN Ruth was left half desolate, Her Father took another Mate; And Ruth, not seven years old, A slighted child, at her own will Went wandering over dale and hill, In thoughtless freedom, bold. And she had made a pipe of straw, And music from that pipe could draw Like sounds of winds and floods; […]
Rural Architecture by William Wordsworth
THERE’S George Fisher, Charles Fleming, and Reginald Shore, Three rosy-cheeked school-boys, the highest not more Than the height of a counsellor’s bag; To the top of Great How did it please them to climb: And there they built up, without mortar or lime, A Man on the peak of the crag. They built him of […]
Resolution And Independence by William Wordsworth
There was a roaring in the wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods; But now the sun is rising calm and bright; The birds are singing in the distant woods; Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; And all the air is […]
Repentance by William Wordsworth
A PASTORAL BALLAD THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold, Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day, Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold, Could we but have been as contented as they. When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I, “Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped […]
Remembrance Of by William Wordsworth
COMPOSED UPON THE THAMES NEAR RICHMOND GLIDE gently, thus for ever glide, O Thames! that other bards may see As lovely visions by thy side As now, fair river! come to me. O glide, fair stream! for ever so, Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep […]
Power Of Music by William Wordsworth
AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old;– Near the stately Pantheon you’ll meet with the same In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name. His station is there; and he works on the crowd, He sways them with harmony merry and loud; […]
Picture of Daniel in the Lion’s Den at Hamilton Palace by William Wordsworth
Amid a fertile region green with wood And fresh with rivers, well doth it become The Ducal Owner, in his Palace-home To naturalise this tawny Lion brood; Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood, Couched in their Den, with those that roam at large Over the burning wilderness, and charge The wind with terror while […]
Personal Talk by William Wordsworth
I I AM not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk.– Of friends, who live within an easy walk, Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight: And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk, These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk […]
On The Same Occasion by William Wordsworth
(The Final Submission Of The Tyrolese) YE Storms, resound the praises of your King! And ye mild Seasons–in a sunny clime, Midway on some high hill, while father Time Looks on delighted–meet in festal ring, And loud and long of Winter’s triumph sing! Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers, Of Winter’s breath […]
On The Final Submission Of The Tyrolese by William Wordsworth
IT was a ‘moral’ end for which they fought; Else how, when mighty Thrones were put to shame, Could they, poor Shepherds, have preserved an aim, A resolution, or enlivening thought? Nor hath that moral good been ‘vainly’ sought; For in their magnanimity and fame Powers have they left, an impulse, and a claim Which […]
On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic by William Wordsworth
. Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee; And was the safeguard of the west: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. She was a maiden City, bright and free; No guile seduced, no force could violate; And, when she took unto herself a […]
On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford by William Wordsworth
. A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun’s pathetic light Engendered, hangs o’er Eildon’s triple height: Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain For kindred Power departing from their sight; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, […]
On A Celebrated Event In Ancient History by William Wordsworth
A ROMAN Master stands on Grecian ground, And to the people at the Isthmian Games Assembled, He, by a herald’s voice, proclaims THE LIBERTY OF GREECE:–the words rebound Until all voices in one voice are drowned; Glad acclamation by which air was rent! And birds, high-flying in the element, Dropped to the earth, astonished at […]
O’erweening Statesmen Have Full Long Relied by William Wordsworth
O’ERWEENING Statesmen have full long relied On fleets and armies, and external wealth: But from ‘within’ proceeds a Nation’s health; Which shall not fail, though poor men cleave with pride To the paternal floor; or turn aside, In the thronged city, from the walks of gain, As being all unworthy to detain A Soul by […]
O’er The Wide Earth, On Mountain And On Plain by William Wordsworth
O’ER the wide earth, on mountain and on plain, Dwells in the affections and the soul of man A Godhead, like the universal PAN; But more exalted, with a brighter train: And shall his bounty be dispensed in vain, Showered equally on city and on field, And neither hope nor steadfast promise yield In these […]
Ode by William Wordsworth
I IMAGINATION–ne’er before content, But aye ascending, restless in her pride From all that martial feats could yield To her desires, or to her hopes present– Stooped to the Victory, on that Belgic field, Achieved, this closing deed magnificent, And with the embrace was satisfied. –Fly, ministers of Fame, With every help that ye from […]
Ode To Lycoris. May 1817 by William Wordsworth
I AN age hath been when Earth was proud Of lustre too intense To be sustained; and Mortals bowed The front in self-defence. Who ‘then’, if Dian’s crescent gleamed, Or Cupid’s sparkling arrow streamed While on the wing the Urchin played, Could fearlessly approach the shade? –Enough for one soft vernal day, If I, a […]
Ode to Duty by William Wordsworth
. Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free; And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are […]
Ode Composed On A May Morning by William Wordsworth
WHILE from the purpling east departs The star that led the dawn, Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts, For May is on the lawn. A quickening hope, a freshening glee, Foreran the expected Power, Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree, Shakes off that pearly shower. All Nature welcomes Her whose sway Tempers the year’s […]
October, 1803 by William Wordsworth
. These times strike monied worldlings with dismay: Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air With words of apprehension and despair: While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray, Men unto whom sufficient for the day And minds not stinted or untilled are given, Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven, Are […]
Occasioned By The Battle Of Waterloo February 1816 by William Wordsworth
INTREPID sons of Albion! not by you Is life despised; ah no, the spacious earth Ne’er saw a race who held, by right of birth, So many objects to which love is due: Ye slight not life–to God and Nature true; But death, becoming death, is dearer far, When duty bids you bleed in open […]
O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art by William Wordsworth
O Nightingale! thou surely art A creature of a “fiery heart”:- These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce; Tumultuous harmony and fierce! Thou sing’st as if the God of wine Had helped thee to a Valentine; A song in mockery and despite Of shades, and dews, and silent night; And steady bliss, and all the […]
Nutting by William Wordsworth
. -It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o’er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps Tow’rd some far-distant wood, a […]
Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent’s Narrow Room by William Wordsworth
Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells; And students with their pensive citadels; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In […]
November 1813 by William Wordsworth
Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright, Our aged Sovereign sits, to the ebb and flow Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe, Insensible. He sits deprived of sight, And lamentably wrapt in twofold night, Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind ensued, Through perilous war, with regal fortitude, Peace that […]
November, 1806 by William Wordsworth
Another year!-another deadly blow! Another mighty Empire overthrown! And We are left, or shall be left, alone; The last that dare to struggle with the Foe. ‘Tis well! from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought; That by our own right hands it must be wrought; That we […]
My Heart Leaps Up by William Wordsworth
My heart leaps up when I behold A Rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the man; And I wish my days to be Bound each […]
Mutability by William Wordsworth
. From low to high doth dissolution climb, And sink from high to low, along a scale Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail; A musical but melancholy chime, Which they can hear who meddle not with crime, Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care. Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear The longest […]
Most Sweet it is by William Wordsworth
. Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty […]
Minstrels by William Wordsworth
The minstrels played their Christmas tune To-night beneath my cottage-eaves; While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels, thick with leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, That overpowered their natural green. Through hill and valley every breeze Had sunk to rest with folded wings: Keen was the air, but could not freeze, […]
Michael Angelo In Reply To The Passage Upon His Staute Of Sleeping Night by William Wordsworth
‘Night Speaks’ GRATEFUL is Sleep, my life in stone bound fast; More grateful still: while wrong and shame shall last, On me can Time no happier state bestow Than to be left unconscious of the woe. Ah then, lest you awaken me, speak low. Grateful is Sleep, more grateful still to be Of marble; for […]
Michael: A Pastoral Poem by William Wordsworth
. 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 around that boisterous brook The mountains have all opened out themselves, […]
Methought I Saw The Footsteps Of A Throne by William Wordsworth
METHOUGHT I saw the footsteps of a throne Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud– Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed; But all the steps and ground about were strown With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone Ever put on; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before […]
Memory by William Wordsworth
A pen-to register; a key- That winds through secret wards Are well assigned to Memory By allegoric Bards. As aptly, also, might be given A Pencil to her hand; That, softening objects, sometimes even Outstrips the heart’s demand; That smooths foregone distress, the lines Of lingering care subdues, Long-vanished happiness refines, And clothes in brighter […]
Memorials Of A Tour Of Scotland, 1803 VI. Glen-Almain, Or, The Narrow Glen by William Wordsworth
IN this still place, remote from men, Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN; In this still place, where murmurs on But one meek streamlet, only one: He sang of battles, and the breath Of stormy war, and violent death; And should, methinks, when all was past, Have rightfully been laid at last Where rocks were […]