Poems by William Wordsworth

Poems by William Wordsworth

A Narrow Girdle of Rough Stones and Crags, by William Wordsworth

A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between th...

My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold, by William Wordsworth

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it...

Michael, by William Wordsworth

A Pastoral Poem If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-hea...

Matthew, by William Wordsworth

If Nature, for a favourite child,
In thee hath tempered so her clay,
That every hour thy hea...

The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband, by William Wordsworth

Age! Twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours;
And bid t...

Louisa, by William Wordsworth

After Accompanying Her on a Mountain Excursion I met Louisa in the shade,
And, having seen th...

London, 1802, by William Wordsworth

Milton! Thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stag...

Lines Written While Sailing in a Boat at Evening, by William Wordsworth

How richly glows the water's breast
Before us, tinged with evening hues,
While, facing thus ...

Lines Written in Early Spring, by William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when p...

Lines on the Expected Invasion, 1803, by William Wordsworth

Come yewho, if (which Heaven avert!) the Land
Were with herself at strife, would take your sta...

Lines Left Upon a Seat in a Yew-Tree..., by William Wordsworth

Nay, Traveller! Rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here

The Last of the Flock, by William Wordsworth

I In distant countries have I been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full...

The Kitten and Falling Leaves, by William Wordsworth

That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the Kitten on the wall,

In a Carriage, Upon the Banks of the Rhine, by William Wordsworth

Amid this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart--while sweeping by,
As in a...

I Grieved for Buonaparté, by William Wordsworth

I grieved for Buonaparté, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood
Of tha...