William Wordsworth Poems: William Wordsworth was a profound English poet who started the romantic age in English literature. Wordsworth was born on 7 April 1770 and died on 23 April 1850. He was famous for writing long philosophical poems the longest poem written by him was “The Prelude” which is of 14 books. The prelude was published after the death of Wordsworth by his wife.
Being a popular poet was a tough job for him. Below, we are sharing some important Williams Wordsworth Poems for many literature fanatics:
1-William Wordsworth Poems: “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” (Daffodils)
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Explanation:
Williams Wordsworth Poems “Daffodils” praises Mother Nature very beautifully. The poet William Wordsworth wants to portray that he wishes to float freely in nature just like a daffodil, he wants to see the stars and the Milky Way galaxy without any fear and tension of the world.
2- “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey”
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur. — Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
‘Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit’s cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and ‘mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration: — feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As may have had no trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man’s life;
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on, —
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,
In darkness, and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart —
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro’ the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was, when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all. — I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colors and their forms, were then to me
An appetite: a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. — That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, — both what they half-create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; ’tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e’er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief
Explanation :
The Williams Wordsworth Poems” Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey” was written by William Wordsworth when he came back to his hometown Wye Valley after 5 long years. The poem is like a comparison between the past and present and how the memories hit William after coming back from 5 years of absence.
3- “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Early Childhood”
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight
To me did seem
Apparell’d in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe’er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where’er I go,
That there hath pass’d away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor’s sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday;—
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Shepherd-boy!
Ye blessèd Creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,
And the Children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother’s arm:—
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
—But there’s a Tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have look’d upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature’s Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother’s mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years’ Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where ‘mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother’s kisses,
With light upon him from his father’s eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his ‘humorous stage’
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy Soul’s immensity;
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a Master o’er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being’s height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That Nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest—
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young Lambs bound
Explanation :
The poet William Wordsworth was a very spiritual person but as he became old he realized that his spirituality had decreased significantly as he grew up. In the Williams Wordsworth Poems “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Early Childhood” he defines the same thing. The poem defines the compound relationship between man and god.
4- William Wordsworth Poems: “London, 1802”
Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away
From these white cliffs, and high-ascending towers;
This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours
Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey,
And the age changed unto a mimic play
Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:
For all our pomp and pageantry and powers
We are but fit to delve the common clay,
Seeing this little isle on which we stand,
This sea of fretful waves, these men and things,
Divided from us by a narrow space
And all one waste of waters. I command
Unsummoned visions to his vacant mind,
Of sheep wild-scattered o’er untrodden heights,
Of birds that ceaselessly on wing do flit,
Of mountains stern, or trees with solemn voice
Of waters, and wild creatures, and the bloom
Of flowers unvisited by human foot—
Of all the beauty, and the majesty,
Which life’s affections make more dear, the loveliness
In which they dwell.
And now, beloved Friend!
Do I behold the inliabitants,
The Swans in the Duddon, they have gained
Their resting-place; the Abbey is a place
Of literary interest, to which,
And by this image, it is hoped, ere long
That we, and our descendants, may be brought.
Whence in a cherished intersection with them
This portion of our story may become
A mountain pasture, the abode of dees
And craggy heights, where shepherds dwell alone,
And stories are enlivened at their work
By an internal music, which ascends
Majestic as the solitary pomp
Of misty mountains, from whose single floods
Earth’s rivers, as their fashion’d paths they seek
In silence, fed by numberless small rills,
Descend—flowing, and falling. A green pasture
Even yet appears, less changed by human care,
And not so wholly with the spoils of time
Defaced, but that the wilderness may show
Its genuine character. The present plants
Do I behold; the yellow wall-flower stained
With iron’s rust, the bindweed hanging down
In yellow garlands, often do I greet
In twine about a gray stone trough or stem;
The climbing sycamore; the churchyard yew
And cottage-haunting daisy, seen alike
Betwixt the stone where I was sitting idly,
On the dark side of the valley’s pleasant ridge;
So faithfully, that to a sleepless eye
That swan, which, still unblemished, white and pure,
Swims by the margin of the grassy lake,
Is not so perfect, though it moves along
The level water at his own free will,
As they appear to rouse a conscious power,
The flower, whose life is spent, that makes the rood
Of yonder sycamore-flower, do I look
Upon thy fostering, therefore is it true
That these remembrances, the spirit and forms
Of the whole universe, I cannot see
So feel or be insensible, nor seem
Fantastic: I hence this prayer to thee.
Which may be utter’d by a gifted few,
To thee, by people many a score
On art by natural loveliness, or rested
In the next chance-abode, however poor,
However dim the dwelling, and the track
Where which their feet are plac’d, however dim
The light which serves them, to sojourn below,
Thy will let her church be always open,
And open its doors to all!—What would have been
My lot, had I, rememberable Friend!
Been chosen to enjoy this blessed abode
With your shrines, which, if the Spirit be that
Which they belong, into the hands of those
Who are most rich in all the gifts of love,
Hath been delivered for our happiness.
Who, when they walk the dewy morning, cast
The homage of a lowly reverence,
Before the upright Judge, the appointed Minister
And witness of all the will of Heaven?
While this most weighty charge is borne by thee,
My soul is nevertheless most satisfied.
Even thus, thy Majesty and excellency,
And whatever your worth, and moral weight,
The matter from the low and unregarded
An elder of the Church, a Man of letters,
Have been transmitted from a free-born Woman,
And thus from age to age the trust
Is handed down, and in their silent state
They serve a purifying influence;
And what I speak now, can be understand
For, to the ordinary intellect
Are worthless, motionless, and dead;
And even now, a very few in whom
The necessary fires of understanding,
And the stillness of the present by the throng
Of objects pressing on them, and from them,
Have been dominion’d, and captivities
With that deep seclusion, which are asked
By those who cannot feel them. We are proof
That to the common soul of human kind
How bountiful soever they may be
With intent and power of furtherance,
To them there is but one essential being
One absolute existence, which assumes
All other functions; but in whom, the state
And faculties of individual life
Are so concentrated and then reposed
With such a habit of assuming, God
Of universal being, must pervade
The universal frame of heaven and earth,
So highly should it be perpetually the same
In parts and functions. On such blessedness
To think is to be full of sorrow, not
Of acquiescence. You may not, may not deem
That silence, like a praise, will steal away
That willing heart, that heart which loves the Field
As a school to perfect its discharge of all
The duties which life lays upon its years,
And love the green earth in its loveliness
And beauty, and love all living things,
Especially the quicken’d souls
To the pure form of Nature, and those forms
That point of consciousness and all of light
Their properties, to serve us at a will
Express, or blind compliance with a will
Indiflerent, whence their universal use.
Have they a pleasant station, many find
Among thy sylvan mountains, for the sight
On couches in your arbours he reclines.
They seem from the Arabian nights. I fear
The Lord of the Wilderness, and I can look
On her tremendous waters, nor feel
The presence of
Explanation :
Williams Wordsworth’s Poems “London 1802” portrays London during the time of William Wordsworth. During time William sees a decline in spirituality among the residents of London. In this poem, Wordsworth mentions John Milton as an idol for the people. Wordsworth with his power of literacy wants to change the minds of people.
5- “To a Skylark”
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
Oh listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Beyond the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;—
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
Explanation :
The Williams Wordsworth Poems “The Solitary Reaper” describes a little girl singing a melancholic song in the vast fields. Although Wordsworth did not understand the lyrics of the song, he loved her song. The poem shows the little girl’s ability to bring Wordsworth emotions. The poem is one of the most famous and fondest works of Wordsworth.
6- The Solitary Reaper (1807)
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
Oh listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;—
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
Explanation :
The poem “The Solitary Reaper” by William Shakespeare shows the power of music. The poem captures the scene of a young lady reaping in a big field and singing a song of joy and happiness. The poet is moved by her song and connects with her lyrics. The poem explores the theme of the timeless and dynamic nature of human emotions and connections.
What is Wiliam Wordsworth known for?
William Wordsworth was popularly known for his Lyrical Ballard.
7- She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!—
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
Explanation :
The poem “She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways” is a narrative poem by William Wordsworth. The poem tells the story of a woman named Lucy. The poem describes Lucy as living a solitary life in a remote and untouched place, away from the world’s notice. Despite being so beautiful she is not praised or loved by everyone. The poem explores the theme of individuals whose virtues and qualities go unnoticed and unappreciated during their lifetimes.
Who is termed as the Father of Romantic Poetry?
William Wordsworth is termed as the Father of Romantic Poetry.
8-William Wordsworth Poems: Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Explanation :
“Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802” is a poem that shows the beauty and aesthetics of an early morning in London observed from the Westminster Bridge. The poem describes the quiet morning with its architectural beauty including ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples, all illuminated by the gentle sunlight. The poem explores the theme of the co-existence of nature and human beings and offers a moment of profound reflection on the sublime beauty of the world.
Who is called the father of poetry?
Geoffrey Chaucer is called the Father of Poetry.
9- The World Is Too Much With Us
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;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. –Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn
Explanation :
“The World Is Too Much With Us” by William Wordsworth reflects the poet’s lament over the materialistic and disconnected state of humanity in his time. The poem begins with a proclamation that people are preoccupied with material pursuits, losing touch with the natural world and their own spiritual essence. The poem explores the themes of materialism and consumerism.
What is William Wordsworth’s most famous Poem?</span>
“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” is the most famous Poem of William Wordsworth.</span>
10- A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal
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.
Explanation :
The poem begins with a serene and tranquil description of a beloved person, possibly a young woman, who seems unaffected by the passing of years, appearing almost immortal in the speaker’s eyes. The poem reflects on the contrast between the eternal nature of nature itself, represented by rocks, stones, and trees, and the mortality of human life.
What is the theme of William Wordsworth’s poetry?
Wordsworth’s poetry often explores themes of nature, beauty, simplicity, and the relationship between humans.
11-William Wordsworth Poems: Nutting
It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o’er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow’rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame–
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,–and, in truth,
More ragged than need was!–Boyish hopes,
And fears by turns, in slighted measure, took
Their strong infection from the heart, and filled
The empTy air with dreamy motes. I stood
And watched her, breeding from a single speck
(With which the bushy summit of a twig,
I twitced it gently, bore a swelling knot)
A life of pleasure and a life of pain,
The unambitious Squirrel, in the link
Of sweet association gently clasped
With those soft flowers of high and low esteem,
That gladly yield their spirits to the breeze,
And only mid the hours of genial dawn,
Or closing twilight, when the dews fell soft,
And kissed the pale-leaved flowers where they sprung,
When reed, and pool, and river were at rest,
The unambitious Squirrel slept. The cottage
Which was my sequestered home, was sown
With its own orchard ground:–a beautiful field,
On which the sheep before my door did feed;
Not half an hour’s ride hence you might behold
A blossom’d pear-tree on a little mound,
Girt with a ring of smoothest turf, and there
A medlar oft put forth its snow-white buds,
Explanation :
In “Nutting,” Wordsworth explores the theme of innocence and the loss of it through the act of nutting. The poem begins with the speaker recalling a day from his youth when he ventured into the woods to gather nuts. The speaker describes the innocent delight he took in his surroundings and the anticipation of collecting nuts in the tranquil wilderness.
What is “Lyrical Ballard”?
“Lyrical Ballads” is a collection of poems by Wordsworth and Coleridge, first published in 1798.
12-William Wordsworth Poems: The Tables Turned
p! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun, above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your Teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless –
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:–
We murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.
Explanation :
<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>”The Tables Turned” by William Wordsworth is a poem that advocates for the importance of connecting with nature and learning from the natural world. The poem begins with an invitation to a friend who is engrossed in books, encouraging them to leave their studies and come outside to experience the beauty of the natural surroundings.
Where did Wordsworth live?
Wordsworth spent his life in the Lake District of England.
13-William Wordsworth Poems: To a Butterfly
I’ve watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!—not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister’s flowers;
Here rest your wing when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We’ll talk of sunshine and song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
Explanation :
“To a Butterfly,” Wordsworth addresses a butterfly, observing its tranquil state as it rests on a flower. The speaker marvels at the butterfly’s stillness, comparing it to the calmness of frozen seas. The poem captures a moment of serene observation, where the speaker is captivated by the delicate beauty and quiet grace of the butterfly.
When did Wordsworth die?
William Wordsworth passed away on April 23, 1850, in Rydal, England.
14- Expostulation and Reply
“Why, William, on that old grey stone,
Thus for the length of half a day,
Why, William, sit you thus alone,
And dream your time away?
Where are your books?—that light bequeathed
To Beings else forlorn and blind!
Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed
From dead men to their kind.
You look round on your Mother Earth,
As if she for no purpose bore you;
As if you were her first-born birth,
And none had lived before you!”
One morning (raw it was and wet—
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in person, tall and straight;
And like a Roman matron’s was her mien and gait.
The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair:
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
“What is it,” said I, “that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak,
Protected from this cold damp air,
What that bright thing may be?”
She answered soon as she had spied
The buried Cross, the Sheaf of Corn,
And that old Stone which oft beside
The pathway immemorially
Had lent its cover to their common need.
“O Sir! the good old times have been;
We and our Fathers have received
No harm from you, have suffered none;
On Spanish ground, in French or Dutch,
Among the Schooners and the Vessels anchored
Among your many Reeds on Uitvlugt
In fam’d Guiana fomenting discord
Where the Old Lady’s school stands
You dare not show your face?
Why, William, sit you thus alone
And dream your time away?”
Explanation :
“Expostulation and Reply” is between two characters, William and the speaker. The poem begins with the speaker questioning why William is sitting alone on a grey stone, seemingly wasting his time. The speaker urges William to read books and engage with the wisdom passed down by dead men to the living.
15-William Wordsworth Poems: Resolution and Independence
I
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;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
II
All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning’s birth;
The grass is bright with raindrops;—on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
III
I was a Traveller then upon the moor;
I saw the hare that raced about with joy;
I heard the woods, and distant waters roar;
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy:
The pleasant season did my heart employ:
My old remembrances went from me wholly;
And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.
IV
But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
Of joys in minds that can no further go,
As high as we have mounted in delight
In our dejection do we sink as low;
To me that morning did it happen so;
And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came;
Dim sadness, and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.
V
I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful hare:
Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
But there may come another day to me—
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
VI
My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,
As if life’s business were a summer mood;
As if all needful things would come unsought
To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
But how can He expect that others should
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
VII
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride;
Of Him who walked in glory and in joy
Following his plough, along the mountain-side:
By our own spirits are we deified:
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
VIII
Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
A leading from above, a something given,
Yet it befell, that in this lonely place,
When I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven
I saw a Man before me unawares:
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
IX
As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie
Couched on the bald top of an eminence;
Wonder to all who do the same espy,
By what means it could thither come, and whence;
So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
Like a Sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;
X
Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead,
Nor all asleep—in his extreme old age:
His body was bent double, feet and head
Coming together in Life’s pilgrimage;
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
Explanation :</b></p>
“Resolution and Independence” is a poem by William Wordsworth that explores themes of nature, aging, and the resilience of the human spirit. The poem is a lyrical conversation between the poet and an old leech-gatherer, reflecting on the challenges and uncertainties of life. The poem suggests that, despite the uncertainties and difficulties of life, there is a source of inner strength and resolution that can sustain individuals through their journey.
16- My Heart Leaps Up
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
Explanation :
<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>”My Heart Leaps Up” is a short but powerful poem by William Wordsworth that expresses the poet’s profound connection to nature and the continuity of the emotional response to it throughout one’s life. The poem begins with the declaration that the poet’s heart leaps with joy at the sight of a rainbow, a natural phenomenon that symbolizes beauty and wonder.
17-William Wordsworth Poems: To the Cuckoo
O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.
Though babbling only to the Vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;
The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen!
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is a fit home for Thee!
Explanation :
<span class=”yoast-text-mark”>”To the Cuckoo” is a poem by William Wordsworth that celebrates the arrival of the cuckoo, a migratory bird known for its distinctive call, and reflects on the emotional impact the bird has on the poet. The poem begins with the poet addressing the cuckoo as a “blithe Newcomer” and expressing joy at hearing its call.
Here are some of the most famous William Wordsworth Poems with Explanation. Stay tuned for more updates and more popular poems written by world-known poets.