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 […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, by William Wordsworth
THOUGHTS SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWING, ON THE BANKS OF NITH, NEAR THE POET’S RESIDENCE TOO frail to keep the lofty vow That must have followed when his brow Was wreathed–“The Vision” tells us how– With holly spray, He faltered, drifted to and fro, And passed away. Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throng Our minds […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland 1814 I. Suggested By A Beautiful Ruin Upon One Of The Islands Of Lo by William Wordsworth
A PLACE CHOSEN FOR THE RETREAT OF A SOLITARY INDIVIDUAL, FROM WHOM THIS HABITATION ACQUIRED THE NAME OF THE BROWNIE’S CELL I To barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking fen, Or depth of labyrinthine glen; Or into trackless forest set With trees, whose lofty umbrage met; World-wearied Men withdrew of yore; (Penance their trust, and […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 by William Wordsworth
Now we are tired of boisterous joy, Have romped enough, my little Boy! Jane hangs her head upon my breast, And you shall bring your stool and rest; This corner is your own. There! take your seat, and let me see That you can listen quietly: And, as I promised, I will tell That strange […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XIV. Fly, Some Kind Haringer, To Grasmere-Dale by William Wordsworth
FLY, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale! Say that we come, and come by this day’s light; Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height, But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale; There let a mystery of joy prevail, The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite, And Rover whine, as at a second sight Of […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. 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 have been […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. Sonnet Composed At —- Castle by William Wordsworth
DEGENERATE Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord! Whom mere despite of heart could so far please, And love of havoc, (for with such disease Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word To level with the dust a noble horde, A brotherhood of venerable Trees, Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, Beggared and […]
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 X. Rob Roy’s Grave by William Wordsworth
A FAMOUS man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer’s joy! And Scotland has a thief as good, An outlaw of as daring mood; She has her brave ROB ROY! Then clear the weeds from off his Grave, And let us chant a passing stave, In honour of that Hero brave! Heaven gave Rob Roy a […]
Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803 by William Wordsworth
THE gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains; Even for the tenants of the zone that lies Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise, Methinks ‘twould heighten joy, to overleap At will the crystal battlements, and peep Into some other region, though less fair, To see how things are made and managed there. […]
Matthew by William Wordsworth
IF Nature, for a favourite child, In thee hath tempered so her clay, That every hour thy heart runs wild, Yet never once doth go astray, Read o’er these lines; and then review This tablet, that thus humbly rears In such diversity of hue Its history of two hundred years. –When through this little wreck […]
Maternal Grief by William Wordsworth
DEPARTED Child! I could forget thee once Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful gain Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul Is present and perpetually abides A shadow, never, never to be displaced By the returning substance, seen or touched, Seen by mine eyes, or clasped in my embrace. Absence and death how differ […]
Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose by William Wordsworth
MARK the concentred hazels that enclose Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray Of noontide suns:–and even the beams that play And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom, The very image framing of a Tomb, In which some […]
Lucy by William Wordsworth
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! –Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy […]
Lucy Gray [or Solitude] by William Wordsworth
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, And when I cross’d the Wild, I chanc’d to see at break of day The solitary Child. No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wild Moor, The sweetest Thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the Fawn at play, The […]
Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion by William Wordsworth
I MET Louisa in the shade, And, having seen that lovely Maid, Why should I fear to say That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong, And down the rocks can leap along Like rivulets in May? She loves her fire, her cottage-home; Yet o’er the moorland will she roam In weather rough and bleak; And, […]
Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid by William Wordsworth
LOOK now on that Adventurer who hath paid His vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slight Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right, Hath followed wheresoe’er a way was made By the blind Goddess,–ruthless, undismayed; And so hath gained at length a prosperous height, Round which the elements of worldly might Beneath his haughty feet, […]
London, 1802 by William Wordsworth
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give […]
Lines Written On A Blank Leaf In A Copy Of The Author’s Poem “The Excursion,” by William Wordsworth
Upon Hearing Of The Death Of The Late Vicar Of Kendal TO public notice, with reluctance strong, Did I deliver this unfinished Song; Yet for one happy issue;–and I look With self-congratulation on the Book Which pious, learned, MURFITT saw and read;– Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed; He conned the new-born Lay with […]
Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth
I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through […]
Lines Written As A School Exercise At Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis 14 by William Wordsworth
“AND has the Sun his flaming chariot driven Two hundred times around the ring of heaven, Since Science first, with all her sacred train, Beneath yon roof began her heavenly reign? While thus I mused, methought, before mine eyes, The Power of EDUCATION seemed to rise; Not she whose rigid precepts trained the boy Dead […]
Lines On The Expected Invasion, 1803 by William Wordsworth
COME ye–who, if (which Heaven avert!) the Land Were with herself at strife, would take your stand, Like gallant Falkland, by the Monarch’s side, And, like Montrose, make Loyalty your pride– Come ye–who, not less zealous, might display Banners at enmity with regal sway, And, like the Pyms and Miltons of that day, Think that […]
Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree, by William Wordsworth
which stands near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect. NAY, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands Far from all human dwelling: what if here No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb? What if the bee love not these barren boughs? Yet, if the wind breathe soft, […]
Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth
Five years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur.-Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the […]
Laodamia by William Wordsworth
. “With sacrifice before the rising morn Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired; And from the infernal Gods, ‘mid shades forlorn Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required: Celestial pity I again implore;- Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!” So speaking, and by fervent love endowed With faith, the Suppliant heavenward […]
Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth
SMILE of the Moon!–for I so name That silent greeting from above; A gentle flash of light that came From her whom drooping captives love; Or art thou of still higher birth? Thou that didst part the clouds of earth, My torpor to reprove! Bright boon of pitying Heaven!–alas, I may not trust thy placid […]
It was an April morning: fresh and clear by William Wordsworth
It was an April morning: fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man’s speed; and yet the voice Of waters which the winter had supplied Was softened down into a vernal tone. The spirit of enjoyment and desire, And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like […]
It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown by William Wordsworth
IT is no Spirit who from heaven hath flown, And is descending on his embassy; Nor Traveller gone from earth the heavens to espy! ‘Tis Hesperus–there he stands with glittering crown, First admonition that the sun is down! For yet it is broad day-light: clouds pass by; A few are near him still–and now the […]
It Is a Beauteous Evening by William Wordsworth
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility; The gentleness of heaven broods o’er the sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder – everlastingly. […]
Is There A Power That Can Sustain And Cheer by William Wordsworth
Is there a power that can sustain and cheer The captive chieftain, by a tyrant’s doom, Forced to descend into his destined tomb– A dungeon dark! where he must waste the year, And lie cut off from all his heart holds dear; What time his injured country is a stage Whereon deliberate Valour and the […]
Invocation To The Earth, February 1816 by William Wordsworth
I “REST, rest, perturbed Earth! O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!” A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind: “From regions where no evil thing has birth I come–thy stains to wash away, Thy cherished fetters to unbind, And open thy sad eyes upon a milder day. The Heavens are thronged with […]
Inside of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge by William Wordsworth
. Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned- Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only-this immense And glorious Work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more; So deemed the man who fashioned for the […]
Inscriptions Written with a Slate Pencil upon a Stone by William Wordsworth
Stranger! this hillock of mis-shapen stones Is not a Ruin spared or made by time, Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem’st, the Cairn Of some old British Chief: ’tis nothing more Than the rude embryo of a little Dome Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle. But, as […]
Inscriptions In The Ground Of Coleorton, The Seat Of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., Leicestershire by William Wordsworth
THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine, Will not unwillingly their place resign; If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands, Planted by Beaumont’s and by ‘s hands. One wooed the silent Art with studious pains: These groves have heard the Other’s pensive strains; Devoted thus, their spirits did unite By interchange of […]