The Sonnet II

Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frownd,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlockd his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarchs wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens soothd an exiles grief;
The Sonnet glitterd a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crownd
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheerd mild Spenser, calld from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains, alas, too few!

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

To The River Greta, Near Keswick

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

The Poet And The Caged Turtledove

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - Dedication

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

From The Same II

William Wordsworth, Simple Poetry

English

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Scorn Not The Sonnet

Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens soothed an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strainsalas, too few!

William Wordsworth

Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - VII - Continued

And what melodious sounds at times prevail!
And, ever and anon, how bright a gleam
Pours on the surface of the turbid Stream!
What heartfelt fragrance mingles with the gale
That swells the bosom of our passing sail!
For where, but on 'this' River's margin, blow
Those flowers of chivalry, to bind the brow
Of hardihood with wreaths that shall not fail?
Fair Court of Edward! wonder of the world!
I see a matchless blazonry unfurled
Of wisdom, magnanimity, and love;
And meekness tempering honourable pride;
The lamb is couching by the lion's side,
And near the flame-eyed eagle sits the dove.

William Wordsworth

Sonnet XLIX. On The Use Of New And Old Words In Poetry.

While with false pride, and narrow jealousy,
    Numbers reject each new expression, won,
    Perchance, from language richer than our own,
    O! with glad welcome may the POET see
Extension's golden vantage! the decree
    Each way exclusive, scorn, and re-enthrone
    The obsolete, if strength, or grace of tone
    Or imagery await it, with a free,
And liberal daring! - For the Critic Train,
    Whose eyes severe our verbal stores review,
    Let the firm Bard require that they explain
Their cause of censure; then in balance true
    Weigh it; but smile at the objections vain
    Of sickly Spirits, hating for they do[1]!

1: The particle for is used in the same sense with because, by Shakespear, and Beaumont and Fletcher.

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Anna Seward

The Sonnet I

Nuns fret not at their convents narrow room,
And hermits are contented with their cells,
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest peak of Furness fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison unto which we doom
Ourselves no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnets scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

William Wordsworth

Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 - I - '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 groveler 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.

William Wordsworth

September, 1819

Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.

Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:-
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!

Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
An...

William Wordsworth