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 […]
Waldenses by William Wordsworth
THOSE had given earliest notice, as the lark Springs from the ground the morn to gratulate; Or rather rose the day to antedate, By striking out a solitary spark, When all the world with midnight gloom was dark.– Then followed the Waldensian bands, whom Hate In vain endeavours to exterminate, Whom Obloquy pursues with hideous […]
View From The Top Of Black Comb by William Wordsworth
THIS Height a ministering Angel might select: For from the summit of BLACK COMB (dread name Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range Of unobstructed prospect may be seen That British ground commands:–low dusky tracts, Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian hills To the south-west, a multitudinous show; And, in a line of […]
Vernal Ode by William Wordsworth
I BENEATH the concave of an April sky, When all the fields with freshest green were dight, Appeared, in presence of the spiritual eye That aids or supersedes our grosser sight, The form and rich habiliments of One Whose countenance bore resemblance to the sun, When it reveals, in evening majesty, Features half lost amid […]
Vaudracour And Julia by William Wordsworth
O HAPPY time of youthful lovers (thus My story may begin) O balmy time, In which a love-knot on a lady’s brow Is fairer than the fairest star in heaven! To such inheritance of blessed fancy (Fancy that sports more desperately with minds Than ever fortune hath been known to do) The high-born Vaudracour was […]
Upon The Sight Of A Beautiful Picture Painted By Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart by William Wordsworth
PRAISED be the Art whose subtle power could stay Yon cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape; Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape, Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day; Which stopped that band of travellers on their way, Ere they were lost within the shady wood; And showed the Bark […]
To The Small Celandine by William Wordsworth
PANSIES, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there’s a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There’s a flower that shall be mine, ‘Tis the little Celandine. Eyes of some men travel far For the finding of […]
To The Poet, John Dyer by William Wordsworth
BARD of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made That work a living landscape fair and bright; Nor hallowed less with musical delight Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed, Those southern tracts of Cambria, “deep embayed, With green hills fenced, with ocean’s murmur lulled;” Though hasty Fame hath many a chaplet culled For […]
To Sleep by William Wordsworth
FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names; The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames, When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep! Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts […]
To Sir George Howland Beaumont, Bart From the South-West Coast Or Cumberland 1811 by William Wordsworth
FAR from our home by Grasmere’s quiet Lake, From the Vale’s peace which all her fields partake, Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria’s shore We sojourn stunned by Ocean’s ceaseless roar; While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black Comb Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom, Unless, perchance rejecting in despite What on the […]
To Joanna by William Wordsworth
AMID the smoke of cities did you pass The time of early youth; and there you learned, From years of quiet industry, to love The living Beings by your own fireside, With such a strong devotion, that your heart Is slow to meet the sympathies of them Who look upon the hills with tenderness, And […]
To A Young Lady Who Had Been Reproached For Taking Long Walks In The Country by William Wordsworth
DEAR Child of Nature, let them rail! –There is a nest in a green dale, A harbour and a hold; Where thou, a Wife and Friend, shalt see Thy own heart-stirring days, and be A light to young and old. There, healthy as a shepherd boy, And treading among flowers of joy Which at no […]
To a Sky-Lark by William Wordsworth
Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds! Singing, singing, With clouds and sky about thee ringing, Lift me, guide me till I find That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary And […]
‘Tis Said, That Some Have Died For Love by William Wordsworth
‘Tis said, that some have died for love: And here and there a churchyard grave is found In the cold north’s unhallowed ground, Because the wretched man himself had slain, His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon Helvellyn’s side: He loved-the […]
The Vaudois by William Wordsworth
BUT whence came they who for the Saviour Lord Have long borne witness as the Scriptures teach?– Ages ere Valdo raised his voice to preach In Gallic ears the unadulterate Word, Their fugitive Progenitors explored Subalpine vales, in quest of safe retreats Where that pure Church survives, though summer heats Open a passage to the […]
The Two Thieves; Or, The Last Stage Of Avarice by William Wordsworth
O NOW that the genius of Bewick were mine, And the skill which he learned on the banks of the Tyne. Then the Muses might deal with me just as they chose, For I’d take my last leave both of verse and of prose. What feats would I work with my magical hand! Book-learning and […]
The Two April Mornings by William Wordsworth
We walked along, while bright and red Uprose the morning sun; And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said `The will of God be done!’ A village schoolmaster was he, With hair of glittering grey; As blithe a man as you could see On a spring holiday. And on that morning, through the grass And by […]
The Thorn by William Wordsworth
I. There is a thorn; it looks so old, In truth you’d find it hard to say, How it could ever have been young, It looks so old and grey. Not higher than a two-year’s child, It stands erect this aged thorn; No leaves it has, no thorny points; It is a mass of knotted […]
The Tables Turned by William Wordsworth
. Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely you’ll grow double: Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble? The sun above the mountain’s head, A freshening lustre mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books! ’tis a dull […]
The Sun Has Long Been Set by William Wordsworth
The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and the trees; There’s a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo’s sovereign cry Fills all the […]
The Stars Are Mansions Built By Nature’s Hand by William Wordsworth
The stars are mansions built by Nature’s hand, And, haply, there the spirits of the blest Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest; Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand, A habitation marvellously planned, For life to occupy in love and rest; All that we see–is dome, or vault, or nest, Or fortress, reared at […]
The Sparrow’s Nest by William Wordsworth
BEHOLD, within the leafy shade, Those bright blue eggs together laid! On me the chance-discovered sight Gleamed like a vision of delight. I started–seeming to espy The home and sheltered bed, The Sparrow’s dwelling, which, hard by My Father’ house, in wet or dry My sister Emmeline and I Together visited. She looked at it […]
The Solitary Reaper by William Wordsworth
Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is […]
The Simplon Pass by William Wordsworth
. -Brook and road Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, And with them did we journey several hours At a slow step. The immeasurable height Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, The stationary blasts of waterfalls, And in the narrow rent, at every turn, Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn, The torrents shooting from […]
The Shepherd, Looking Eastward, Softly Said by William Wordsworth
The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said “Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!” Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread And penetrated all with tender light, She cast away, and showed her fulgent head Uncovered; dazzling the Beholder’s sight As if to vindicate her beauty’s right Her beauty thoughtlessly disparaged. Meanwhile that […]
The Seven Sisters by William Wordsworth
Or, The Solitude Of Binnorie SEVEN Daughter had Lord Archibald, All children of one mother: You could not say in one short day What love they bore each other. A garland, of seven lilies, wrought! Seven sisters that together dwell; But he, bold Knight as ever fought, Their Father, took of them no thought, He […]
The Sailor’s Mother by William Wordsworth
. ONE morning (raw it was and wet– A foggy day in winter time) A Woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron’s was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, […]
The Russian Fugitive by William Wordsworth
I ENOUGH of rose-bud lips, and eyes Like harebells bathed in dew, Of cheek that with carnation vies, And veins of violet hue; Earth wants not beauty that may scorn A likening to frail flowers; Yea, to the stars, if they were born For seasons and for hours. Through Moscow’s gates, with gold unbarred, Stepped […]
The Reverie of Poor Susan by William Wordsworth
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years: Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird. ‘Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a […]
The Redbreast Chasing The Butterfly by William Wordsworth
ART thou the bird whom Man loves best, The pious bird with the scarlet breast, Our little English Robin; The bird that comes about our doors When Autumn-winds are sobbing? Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors? Their Thomas in Finland, And Russia far inland? The bird, that by some name or other All men […]