Lucy V

A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemd a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolld round in earths diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth was a major English Romantic poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped launch the Romantic Age in English literature with their joint publication 'Lyrical Ballads' in 1798. Born on April 7, 1770, Wordsworth's works are noted for their emphasis on the beauty of nature, the importance of emotion, and the value of the individual. His most famous work, 'The Prelude', is considered to be his masterpiece, which is a semi-autobiographical poem that he revised throughout his life.

William Wordsworth

A Narrow Girdle Of Rough Stones And Crags

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

To ..........

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XXIV - Confirmation Continued

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. Yarrow Unvisited

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

English

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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.

William Wordsworth

Lucy II

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
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!

William Wordsworth

Lucy IV

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 hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers 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 s...

William Wordsworth

Lucy I

Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the lovers ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I loved lookd every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening moon.

Upon the moon I fixd my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reachd the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbd the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucys cot
Came near and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Natures gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stoppd:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At on...

William Wordsworth

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 mossy stone
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!

William Wordsworth

Lucy III

I travelld among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
And she I cherishd turnd her wheel
Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights conceald,
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field
That Lucys eyes surveyd.

William Wordsworth