Poems by William Wordsworth

Poems by William Wordsworth

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? Circ...

Written in London, September, 1802, by William Wordsworth

O Friend! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think t...

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 alo...

Yarrow Unvisited, by William Wordsworth

From Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and ...

Yew-Trees, by William Wordsworth

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
Which to this day stands single, in the midst
Of ...

The Source of the Danube, by William Wordsworth

Not, like his great compeers, indignantly
Doth DANUBE spring to life! The wandering Stream

The Sparrow's Nest, by William Wordsworth

Behold, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discov...

Stepping Westward, by William Wordsworth

"What, you are stepping westward?"" Yea."
'Twould be a wildish destiny,
If we, who thus tog...

Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known, by William Wordsworth

Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the Lover's ear alone, ...

The Sun Has Long Been Set, by William Wordsworth

The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping ...

The Tables Turned, by William Wordsworth

Up! Up! My Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! Up! My Friend, an...

There is a Bondage Worse, Far Worse, to Bear, by William Wordsworth

There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear
Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and...

There Is an Eminence—Of These Our Hills, by William Wordsworth

There is an Eminence, of these our hills
The last that parleys with the setting sun;
We can be...

The Thorn, by William Wordsworth

I "There is a Thornit looks so old,
In truth, you'd find it hard to say
How it could ever ha...

Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower, by William Wordsworth

Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was nev...