William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth

1770–1850 · lived 80 years GB GB

William Wordsworth was a pivotal English poet who, along with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped launch the Romantic Age in English literature. His poetry is deeply rooted in the natural world, often exploring themes of memory, imagination, and the spiritual connection between humanity and nature. He is celebrated for his lyrical intensity, his profound empathy, and his ability to find extraordinary beauty and meaning in the ordinary experiences of life.

n. 1770-04-07, Cockermouth · m. 1850-04-23, Rydal Mount

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Yarrow Unvisited

Yarrow Unvisited
. From Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my "winsome Marrow ,"
"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow."
"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let her herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downward with the Tweed
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus;
There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow:
Why throw away a needful day
To go in search of Yarrow?
"What's Yarrow but a river bare,
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder."
--Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn;
My True-love sighed for sorrow;
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow!
"Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms,
And sweet is Yarrow flowing!
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
But we will leave it growing.
O'er hilly path, and open Strath,
We'll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow.
"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow,
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
We will not see them; will not go,
To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.


"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!
It must, or we shall rue it:
We have a vision of our own;
Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past,
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow!
For when we'er there, although 'tis fair,
'Twill be another Yarrow!
"If Care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,--
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low,
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!"
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Bio

Identification and basic context

William Wordsworth was an English poet who was a key figure in the Romantic movement. He was born in Cockermouth, Cumberland, England. He wrote primarily in English.

Childhood and education

Wordsworth's childhood was marked by the beauty of the Lake District, which profoundly influenced his later poetry. He received a formal education at Hawkshead Grammar School and later attended St John's College, Cambridge. His early exposure to nature and his rigorous education laid the foundation for his literary career.

Literary trajectory

Wordsworth's literary career began with early poems and collaborative works. His collaboration with Samuel Taylor Coleridge on "Lyrical Ballads" (1798) is considered a landmark event, ushering in the Romantic era. He continued to write prolifically throughout his life, publishing major works such as "The Prelude," an autobiographical epic poem.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Major works include "Lyrical Ballads" (1798), "The Prelude" (completed 1805, published 1850), "Ode: Intimations of Immortality" (1807), and "The Excursion" (1814). His poetry explores themes of nature, memory, childhood, the human mind, and the sublime. Wordsworth's style is characterized by its focus on the language of ordinary people, his deep emotional response to nature, and his philosophical musings. He often used blank verse and lyrical forms, emphasizing sincerity and spontaneity. His innovations included elevating the commonplace and everyday to the level of high art, and exploring the psychological impact of nature.

Cultural and historical context

Wordsworth lived during a period of significant social and political upheaval in Europe, including the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. He was part of the generation of poets that included Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, and Keats. His work often reflected a tension between the revolutionary ideals of his youth and the more conservative political climate that followed.

Personal life

Wordsworth experienced personal tragedies, including the death of his father and the loss of his wife, Mary Hutchinson. His deep love for his sister, Dorothy Wordsworth, is evident in his correspondence and poetry. He lived a relatively secluded life, deeply connected to the landscape of the Lake District, but he also engaged in intellectual and political discussions.

Recognition and reception

While initially met with mixed reviews, Wordsworth's reputation grew steadily throughout his life and posthumously. He was appointed Poet Laureate in 1843. His work came to be recognized for its profound insight into human nature and its celebration of the natural world.

Influences and legacy

Wordsworth was influenced by the poets of the English Renaissance and by the philosophical ideas of his time. He, in turn, profoundly influenced subsequent generations of poets, shaping the trajectory of English Romanticism and beyond. His emphasis on nature and the individual's experience of it remains a powerful legacy.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Wordsworth's poetry is often interpreted through the lens of his Pantheistic leanings, his theories of poetic diction, and his exploration of the development of the poet's mind. Critics have analyzed his complex relationship with memory and imagination, and his philosophical engagement with the ideas of Rousseau and Kant.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Wordsworth was known for his methodical and often solitary habits of composition. He would often pace extensively while composing, sometimes accompanied by his sister Dorothy. He had a strong sense of his own poetic mission and was deeply committed to his principles.

Death and memory

Wordsworth died at Rydal Mount, Ambleside, in 1850. His final great work, "The Prelude," was published posthumously and is now considered his masterpiece. He is buried in Grasmere churchyard.

Poems

114

Andrew Jones

Andrew Jones
I hate that Andrew Jones; he'll breed
His children up to waste and pillage.
I wish the press-gang or the drum
With its tantara sound would come,
And sweep him from the village!
I said not this, because he loves
Through the long day to swear and tipple;
But for the poor dear sake of one
To whom a foul deed he had done,
A friendless man, a travelling cripple!
For this poor crawling helpless wretch,
Some horseman who was passing by,
A penny on the ground had thrown;
But the poor cripple was alone
And could not stoop--no help was nigh.
Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground
For it had long been droughty weather;
So with his staff the cripple wrought
Among the dust till he had brought
The half-pennies together.
It chanced that Andrew passed that way
Just at the time; and there he found
The cripple in the mid-day heat
Standing alone, and at his feet
He saw the penny on the ground.
He stopped and took the penny up:
And when the cripple nearer drew,
Quoth Andrew, "Under half-a-crown,
What a man finds is all his own,
And so, my Friend, good-day to you."
And 'hence' I said, that Andrew's boys
Will all be trained to waste and pillage;
And wished the press-gang, or the drum
With its tantara sound, would come
And sweep him from the village.
236

A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal

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.
220

A Wren's Nest

A Wren's Nest
AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's
In snugness may compare.
No door the tenement requires,
And seldom needs a laboured roof;
Yet is it to the fiercest sun
Impervious, and storm-proof.
So warm, so beautiful withal,
In perfect fitness for its aim,
That to the Kind by special grace
Their instinct surely came.
And when for their abodes they seek
An opportune recess,
The hermit has no finer eye
For shadowy quietness.
These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls,
A canopy in some still nook;
Others are pent-housed by a brae
That overhangs a brook.
There to the brooding bird her mate
Warbles by fits his low clear song;
And by the busy streamlet both
Are sung to all day long.
Or in sequestered lanes they build,
Where, till the flitting bird's return,
Her eggs within the nest repose,
Like relics in an urn.
But still, where general choice is good,
There is a better and a best;
And, among fairest objects, some
Are fairer than the rest;
This, one of those small builders proved
In a green covert, where, from out
The forehead of a pollard oak,
The leafy antlers sprout;
For She who planned the mossy lodge,
Mistrusting her evasive skill,
Had to a Primrose looked for aid
Her wishes to fulfill.
High on the trunk's projecting brow,
And fixed an infant's span above


The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest
The prettiest of the grove!
The treasure proudly did I show
To some whose minds without disdain
Can turn to little things; but once
Looked up for it in vain:
'Tis gone---a ruthless spoiler's prey,
Who heeds not beauty, love, or song,
'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved
Indignant at the wrong.
Just three days after, passing by
In clearer light the moss-built cell
I saw, espied its shaded mouth;
And felt that all was well.
The Primrose for a veil had spread
The largest of her upright leaves;
And thus, for purposes benign,
A simple flower deceives.
Concealed from friends who might disturb
Thy quiet with no ill intent,
Secure from evil eyes and hands
On barbarous plunder bent,
Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young
Take flight, and thou art free to roam,
When withered is the guardian Flower,
And empty thy late home,
Think how ye prospered, thou and thine,
Amid the unviolated grove
Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft
In foresight, or in love.
319

A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School

A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School
. A poet!--He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which art hath lodged within his hand--must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,
And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold;
And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree
Comes not by casting in a formal mould,
But from its own divine vitality.
224

A Night Thought

A Night Thought
Lo! where the Moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye
Or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly
How bright her mien!
Far different we--a froward race,
Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace
With cherished sullenness of pace
Their way pursue,
Ingrates who wear a smileless face
The whole year through.
If kindred humours e'er would make
My spirit droop for drooping's sake,
From Fancy following in thy wake,
Bright ship of heaven!
A counter impulse let me take
And be forgiven.
183

With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh,

"With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh,"
With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Some lying fast at anchor in the road,
Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly vessel did I then espy
Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
The ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a lover's look;
This ship to all the rest did I prefer:
When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:
On went she, and due north her journey took.
293

A Complaint

A Complaint
There is a change--and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.
What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I? Shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.
A well of love--it may be deep--
I trust it is,--and never dry:
What matter? If the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.
--Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.
273

Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower,

"Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower,"
Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This Child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.
"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And her's shall be the breathing balm,
And her's the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.
"The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the Storm
Grace that shall mold the Maiden's form
By silent sympathy.
"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell."
Thus Nature spake---The work was done---
How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.
524

The World Is To Much With Us; Late and Soon

"The World Is To Much With Us; Late and Soon"
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 wreathed horn.
190

She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways

"She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways"
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mosy tone
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!
452

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