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Biography. Wordsworth was born at Cockermouth, Cumbria, in 1770, the son of an attorney. Both parents were dead by the time he was thirteen, a loss recorded in the early part of ‘The Prelude’ where he describes with vivid intensity his growing up in the country ‘foster’d alike by beauty and by fear’. After fitful study at St John’s ...
Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds. It sweeps from vale to vale; Not five yards from the mountain path, This Thorn you on your left espy; And to the left, three yards beyond, You see a little muddy pond. Of water—never dry, Though but of compass small, and bare. To thirsty suns and parching air.
By William Wordsworth. 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.
Resolution and Independence. And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy. Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name. Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
Share your thoughts on william wordsworth's poems with the community: In my collection I have William Wordsworth's THE POETICAL WORKS OF WORDWORTH with memoir, explanatory notes, etc. . Published in New York by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. at No. 13 Astor Place. Perhaps Wordsworth’s best is Upon Westminster Bridge.
William Wordsworth and Wordsworth’s Poetry Background. William Wordsworth was born on April 7 th, 1770, in Cockermouth, Cumberland, England. Young William’s parents, John and Ann, died during his boyhood. Raised amid the mountains of Cumberland alongside the River Derwent, Wordsworth grew up in a rustic society, and spent a great deal of ...
The Solitary Reaper. By William Wordsworth. Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound.
