William Wordsworth Poems

  • 951.  
    Strange fits of passion have I known:
    And I will dare to tell,But in the lover's ear alone,
  • 952.  
    It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
    The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
  • 953.  
    When I have borne in memory what has tamed
    Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
  • 954.  
    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
  • 955.  
    Great men have been among us; hands that penn'd
    And tongues that utter'd wisdom-better none: The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington,
  • 956.  
    Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
    England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
  • 957.  
    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
  • 958.  
    Surprised by joy-impatient as the Wind
    I turned to share the transport-O! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
  • 959.  
    The minstrels played their Christmas tune
    To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;While, smitten by a lofty moon,
  • 960.  
    And is this-Yarrow?-This the stream
    Of which my fancy cherished,So faithfully, a waking dream?
  • 961.  
    See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon
    the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning-
  • 962.  
    The gallant Youth, who may have gained,
    Or seeks, a “winsome Marrow,”Was but an Infant in the lap
  • 963.  
    The cock is crowing,
    The stream is flowing,The small birds twitter,
  • 964.  
    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
  • 965.  
    O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
    I hear thee and rejoice.O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
  • 966.  
    Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
    Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
  • 967.  
    (At Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond)

  • 968.  
    Three years she grew in sun and shower,
    Then Nature said, “A lovelier flowerOn earth was never sown;
  • 969.  
    There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
    And islands of Winander! many a time,At evening, when the earliest stars began
  • 970.  
    The world is too much with us; late and soon,
    Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:Little we see in Nature that is ours;
  • 971.  
    Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
    With the least shade of thought to sin allied.Woman! above all women glorified,
  • 972.  
    Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
    Or surely you'll grow double:Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
  • 973.  
    Behold her, single in the field,
    Yon solitary Highland Lass!Reaping and singing by herself;
  • 974.  
    -Brook and road
    Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass,And with them did we journey several hours
  • 975.  
    At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
    Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard
  • 976.  
    A Rock there is whose homely front
    The passing traveller slights;Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps,
  • 977.  
    The power of Armies is a visible thing,
    Formal and circumscribed in time and space;But who the limits of that power shall trace
  • 978.  
    I saw an aged Beggar in my walk;
    And he was seated, by the highway side,On a low structure of rude masonry
  • 979.  
    Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
    Their snow-white blossoms on my head,With brightest sunshine round me spread
  • 980.  
    Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!
    For mighty were the auxiliars which then stoodUpon our side, we who were strong in love!
  • 981.  
    I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
    As being past away.-Vain sympathies!For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
  • 982.  
    High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,
    And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.-The words of ancient time I thus translate,
  • 983.  
    With an incident in which he was concerned

  • 984.  
    She was a Phantom of delight
    When first she gleamed upon my sight;A lovely Apparition, sent
  • 985.  
    She dwelt among the untrodden ways
    Beside the springs of Dove,A Maid whom there were none to praise
  • 986.  
    Departing summer hath assumed
    An aspect tenderly illumed,The gentlest look of spring;
  • 987.  
    Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
    Mindless of its just honours; with this keyShakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
  • 988.  
    There was a roaring in the wind all night;
    The rain came heavily and fell in floods;But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
  • 989.  
    Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;
    And was the safeguard of the west: the worthOf Venice did not fall below her birth,
  • 990.  
    A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
    Nor of the setting sun's pathetic lightEngendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:
  • 991.  
    Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
    recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim (Seneca, Letters 130.10)
  • 992.  
    The child is father of the man;
    And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
  • 993.  
    These times strike monied worldlings with dismay:
    Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the airWith words of apprehension and despair:
  • 994.  
    -It seems a day
    (I speak of one from many singled out)One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
  • 995.  
    Another year!-another deadly blow!
    Another mighty Empire overthrown!And We are left, or shall be left, alone;
  • 996.  
    From low to high doth dissolution climb,
    And sink from high to low, along a scaleOf awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;
  • 997.  
    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
  • 998.  
    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
  • 999.  
    Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
    England hath need of thee: she is a fenOf stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
  • 1000.  
    I heard a thousand blended notes,
    While in a grove I sate reclined,In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Total 1015 poems written by William Wordsworth

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
Barbury Camp
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

We burrowed night and day with tools of lead,
Heaped the bank up and cast it in a ring
And hurled the earth above. And Caesar said,
“Why, it is excellent. I like the thing.”
We, who are dead,
Made it, and wrought, and Caesar liked the thing.

And here we strove, and here we felt each vein

Read complete poem

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