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 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 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 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 […]

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 […]

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 […]