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 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 […]
Hymn To Woden by William Lisle Bowles
God of the battle, hear our prayer! By the lifted falchion’s glare; By the uncouth fane sublime, Marked with many a Runic rhyme; By the “weird sisters” dread, That, posting through the battle red, Choose the slain, and with them go To Valhalla’s halls below, Where the phantom-chiefs prolong Their echoing feast, a giant throng, […]
Distant View Of England From The Sea by William Lisle Bowles
Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start, As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white Above the wave, once more my beating heart With eager hope and filial transport hails! Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring, As when erewhile the tuneful morn of […]
Battle Of Corruna by William Lisle Bowles
The tide of fate rolls on!–heart-pierced and pale, The gallant soldier lies, nor aught avail, The shield, the sword, the spirit of the brave, From rapine’s armed hand thy vales to save, Land of illustrious heroes, who, of yore, Drenched the same plains with the invader’s gore, Stood frowning, in the front of death, and […]
Avenue In Savernake Forest by William Lisle Bowles
How soothing sound the gentle airs that move The innumerable leaves, high overhead, When autumn first, from the long avenue, That lifts its arching height of ancient shade, Steals here and there a leaf! Within the gloom, In partial sunshine white, some trunks appear, Studding the glens of fern; in solemn shade Some mingle their […]
At Tynemouth Priory by William Lisle Bowles
AFTER A TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE. As slow I climb the cliff’s ascending side, Much musing on the track of terror past, When o’er the dark wave rode the howling blast, Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam Of evening smiles on the gray battlement, And […]
At Oxford by William Lisle Bowles
Bereave me not of Fancy’s shadowy dreams, Which won my heart, or when the gay career Of life begun, or when at times a tear Sat sad on memory’s cheek–though loftier themes Await the awakened mind to the high prize Of wisdom, hardly earned with toil and pain, Aspiring patient; yet on life’s wide plain […]
At Malvern by William Lisle Bowles
I shall behold far off thy towering crest, Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray Down through the distant vale my homeward way, I shall behold upon thy rugged breast, The parting sun sit smiling: me the while Escaped the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness May visit, as life’s bitter losses press Hard […]
Abba Thule’s Lament For His Son Prince Le Boo by William Lisle Bowles
I climb the highest cliff; I hear the sound Of dashing waves; I gaze intent around; I mark the gray cope, and the hollowness Of heaven, and the great sun, that comes to bless The isles again; but my long-straining eye, No speck, no shadow can, far off, descry, That I might weep tears of […]
A Rustic Seat Near The Sea by William Lisle Bowles
To him, who, many a night upon the main, At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel’s side, Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide, Oh, how delightful smile thy views again, Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill That o’er the gray sand glitters; the clear […]
A Garden-Seat At Home by William Lisle Bowles
Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home, Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose, And slender woods that the still scene inclose, For yon magnificent and ample dome That glitters in my sight! yet I can praise Thee, Arundel, who, shunning the thronged ways Of glittering vice, silently dost dispense The […]
“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, 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 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 […]
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 […]
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 […]