The Childless Father, by William Wordsworth
"Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away!
N...
Animal Poems
The Complaint of a Forsaken Indian Woman, by William Wordsworth
I Before I see another day,
Oh let my body ...
The Cottager to her Infant, by William Wordsworth
The days are cold, the nights are long,
The ...
The Danish Boy, by William Wordsworth
I Between two sister moorland rills
There is...
Elegiac Verses, by William Wordsworth
In Memory of My Brother, John Wordsworth, Com...
An Evening Walk, by William Wordsworth
Far from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to rove
...
A Farewell, by William Wordsworth
Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,...
The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale, by William Wordsworth
'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refine...
Fidelity, by William Wordsworth
A barking sound the Shepherd hears,
A cry as ...
Fly, Some Kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale, by William Wordsworth
Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale!
...
Fort Fuentes, by William Wordsworth
Dread hour! When, upheaved by war's sulphurous...
The Fountain, by William Wordsworth
We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affecti...
Guilt and Sorrow; or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain, by William Wordsworth
I A traveller on the skirt of Sarum's Plain
...
Her Eyes Are Wild, by William Wordsworth
I Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The...
The Idiot Boy, by William Wordsworth
'Tis eight o'clock, a clear March night,
The ...
The Idle Shepherd-Boys; or, Dungeon-Ghyll Force, by William Wordsworth
The valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among th...
Incident Characteristic of a Favourite Dog, by William Wordsworth
On his morning rounds the Master
Goes to learn...
It Was an April Morning: Fresh and Clear, by William Wordsworth
It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The R...
The Kitten and Falling Leaves, by William Wordsworth
That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty ...
The Last of the Flock, by William Wordsworth
I In distant countries have I been,
And yet...
Lines Left Upon a Seat in a Yew-Tree..., by William Wordsworth
Nay, Traveller! Rest. This lonely Yew-tree sta...
Lucy Gray; or, Solitude, by William Wordsworth
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I cr...
Michael, by William Wordsworth
A Pastoral Poem If from the public way you tur...
A Narrow Girdle of Rough Stones and Crags, by William Wordsworth
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A ...
Nutting, by William Wordsworth
It seems a day
(I...