Category William Wordsworth

Gypsies

Yet are they here the same unbroken knot Of human Beings, in the self-same spot! Men, women, children, yea the frame Of the whole spectacle the same! Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light, Now deep and red, the colouring…

To the Sons of Burns

ADDRESS TO THE SONS OF BURNS After visiting their Father’s Grave. (August 14th, 1803) Ye now are panting up life’s hill! ‘Tis twilight lime of good and ill, And more than common strength and skill ⁠Must ye display If ye would…

Written In Very Early Youth

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…

With how sad steps

“With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb’st the sky, How silently, and with how wan a face!” Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph’s race! Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath’s a…

Who Fancied What a Pretty Sight

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…

The White Doe of Rylstone

  From Bolton’s old monastic tower           The bells ring loud with gladsome power;           The sun shines bright; the fields are gay           With people in their best array           Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf,           Along the…

When I Have Borne In Memory

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,…