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William Wordsworth Poems

A collection of select William Wordsworth famous poems that were written by William Wordsworth or written about the poet by other famous poets. PoetrySoup is a comprehensive educational resource of the greatest poems and poets on history.

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by Wordsworth, William
 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 the...Read More



by Wordsworth, William
  "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 bequeath'd  To beings else forlorn and blind!  Up! Up! and drink the spirit breath'd  From dead men to their kind."   "You look round on your mother earth,  As if she for no purpose bore you;  As...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
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; 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
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...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
Five years have passed; 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...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
 I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my...Read More



by Wordsworth, William
 Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
  All Thoughts, all Passions, all Delights,  Whatever stirs this mortal Frame,  All are but Ministers of Love,    And feed his sacred flame.   Oft in my waking dreams do I  Live o'er again that happy hour,  When midway on the Mount I lay    Beside the Ruin'd Tower.   The Moonshine stealing o'er the scene  Had blended with the Lights of Eve;  And she was there, my Hope, my Joy,    My own...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
 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...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
 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...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
[When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions; he is left behind, covered over with Deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow, or...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
  And this place our forefathers made for man!  This is the process of our love and wisdom  To each poor brother who offends against us—  Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty?  Is this the only cure? Merciful God!  Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up  By ignorance and parching poverty,  His energies roll back upon his heart,  And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison,  They break out on...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
  By Derwent's side my Father's cottage stood,  (The Woman thus her artless story told)  One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood  Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold.  Light was my sleep; my days in transport roll'd:  With thoughtless joy I stretch'd along the shore  My father's nets, or from the mountain fold  Saw on the distant lake his twinkling oar  Or watch'd his...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
The IDIOT BOY.   'Tis eight o'clock,—a clear March night,  The moon is up—the sky is blue,  The owlet in the moonlight air,  He shouts from nobody knows where;  He lengthens out his lonely shout,  Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!   —Why bustle thus about your door,  What means this bustle, Betty Foy?  Why are you in this mighty fret?  And why on horseback have you set  Him whom you love,...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
  In distant countries I have been,  And yet I have not often seen  A healthy man, a man full grown,  Weep in the public roads alone.  But such a one, on English ground,  And in the broad high-way, I met;  Along the broad high-way he came,  His cheeks with tears were wet.  Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;  And in his arms a lamb he had.   He saw...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
An Evening Scene on the Same Subject

Up! 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...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
An Evening Scene, on the same Subject,   Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks,  Why all this toil and trouble?  Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,  Or surely you'll grow double.   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 dull and endless strife,  Come, here the woodland...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
I.   There is a thorn; it looks so old,  In truth you'd find it hard to say,  How it could ever have been young,  It looks so old and grey.  Not higher than a two years' child  It stands erect this aged thorn;  No leaves it has, no thorny points;  It is a mass of knotted joints,  A wretched thing forlorn.  It stands erect, and like a stone  With lichens...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
  A simple child, dear brother Jim,  That lightly draws its breath,  And feels its life in every limb,  What should it know of death?   I met a little cottage girl,  She was eight years old, she said;  Her hair was thick with many a curl  That cluster'd round her head.   She had a rustic, woodland air,  And she was wildly clad;  Her eyes were fair, and very fair,  —Her...Read More

by Wordsworth, William
 The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
 The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
 There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
 The plowboy is...Read More