William Wordsworth Poems

  • 751.  
    LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild;
    And Innocence hath privilege in her To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes;
  • 752.  
    ON his morning rounds the Master
    Goes to learn how all things fare; Searches pasture after pasture,
  • 753.  
    [In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of an old highway
    leading to Ambleside, is a gate, which, from time out of mind, has been called the Wishing-gate, from a belief that
  • 754.  
    FESTIVALS have I seen that were not names:
    This is young Buonaparte's natal day, And his is henceforth an established sway-
  • 755.  
    My heart leaps up when I behold
    A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began;
  • 756.  
    Five years have past; five summers, with the length
    Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
  • 757.  
    OFT have I caught, upon a fitful breeze,
    Fragments of far-off melodies, With ear not coveting the whole,
  • 758.  
    WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle,
    For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised? Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile
  • 759.  
    By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze
    Of dreadful sacrifice, by Russian blood Lavished in fight with desperate hardihood;
  • 760.  
    I AM not One who much or oft delight
  • 761.  
    I hate that Andrew Jones; he'll breed
    His children up to waste and pillage. I wish the press-gang or the drum
  • 762.  
    Yet are they here the same unbroken knot
    Of human Beings, in the self-same spot! Men, women, children, yea the frame
  • 763.  
    FANCY, who leads the pastimes of the glad,
    Full oft is pleased a wayward dart to throw; Sending sad shadows after things not sad,
  • 764.  
    THE days are cold, the nights are long,
    The north-wind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast;
  • 765.  
    There's something in a flying horse,
  • 766.  
    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,
  • 767.  
    . See Plutarch.
    Serene, and fitted to embrace, Where'er he turned, a swan-like grace
  • 768.  
    'WEAK is the will of Man, his judgment blind;
    'Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; 'Heavy is woe;--and joy, for human-kind,
  • 769.  
    WHILE from the purpling east departs
    The star that led the dawn, Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
  • 770.  
    WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport,
    Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line
  • 771.  
    Three years she grew in sun and shower,
    Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower On earth was never sown;
  • 772.  
    BEAUMONT! it was thy wish that I should rear
    A seemly Cottage in this sunny Dell, On favoured ground, thy gift, where I might dwell
  • 773.  
    WELL may'st thou halt-and gaze with brightening eye!
    The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook,
  • 774.  
    ABRUPTLY paused the strife;--the field throughout
    Resting upon his arms each warrior stood, Checked in the very act and deed of blood,
  • 775.  
    CALVERT! it must not be unheard by them
    Who may respect my name, that I to thee Owed many years of early liberty.
  • 776.  
    ENOUGH of rose-bud lips, and eyes
  • 777.  
    It is not to be thought of that the Flood
    Of British freedom, which, to the open sea Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
  • 778.  
    ENGLAND! the time is come when thou should'st wean
    Thy heart from its emasculating food; The truth should now be better understood;
  • 779.  
    Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
    And hermits are contented with their cells; And students with their pensive citadels;
  • 780.  
    'Call up him who left half told
    The story of Cambuscan bold.'
  • 781.  
    SHADE of Caractacus, if spirits love
    The cause they fought for in their earthly home To see the Eagle ruffled by the Dove
  • 782.  
    Sweet Flower! belike one day to have
    A place upon thy Poet's grave, I welcome thee once more:
  • 783.  
    HERE pause: the poet claims at least this praise,
    That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope
  • 784.  
    AND is it among rude untutored Dales,
    There, and there only, that the heart is true? And, rising to repel or to subdue,
  • 785.  
    OF mortal parents is the Hero born
    By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led? Or is it Tell's great Spirit, from the dead
  • 786.  
    THOUGH many suns have risen and set
    Since thou, blithe May, wert born, And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget
  • 787.  
    Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
    Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air Of absence withers what was once so fair?
  • 788.  
    Let thy wheel-barrow alone--
    Wherefore, Sexton, piling still In thy bone-house bone on bone?
  • 789.  
    THERE is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear
    Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall, Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
  • 790.  
    WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed
       Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart    When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
  • 791.  
    O'ER the wide earth, on mountain and on plain,
    Dwells in the affections and the soul of man A Godhead, like the universal PAN;
  • 792.  
    FEBRUARY 1816
    Oh, for a kindling touch from that pure flame
  • 793.  
    It is the first mild day of March:
    Each minute sweeter than before The redbreast sings from the tall larch
  • 794.  
    ONE morning (raw it was and wet---
    A foggy day in winter time) A Woman on the road I met,
  • 795.  
    SWIFTLY turn the murmuring wheel!
  • 796.  
    MARK the concentred hazels that enclose
    Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray Of noontide suns:--and even the beams that play
  • 797.  
    Rude is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
    Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained Proportions more harmonious, and approached
  • 798.  
    HAIL Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!
    Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night; But studious only to remove from sight
  • 799.  
    I HAVE a boy of five years old;
    His face is fair and fresh to see; His limbs are cast in beautyÃ?s mold
  • 800.  
    The valley rings with mirth and joy;
    Among the hills the echoes play A never never ending song,
Total 1015 poems written by William Wordsworth

Poem of the day

A. E. Housman Poem
When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow
 by A. E. Housman

When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,

The blackbird in the coppice
Looked out to see me stride,

Read complete poem

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