Search results
By William Wordsworth. 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,
By William Wordsworth. 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,
This article lists the complete poetic bibliography of William Wordsworth, including his juvenilia, describing his poetic output during the years 1785-1797, and any previously private and, during his lifetime, unpublished poems.
1770 –. 1850. 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 a bay:
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 dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart.
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802. By William Wordsworth. Earth has not any thing 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,
1770 –. 1850. 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,
Related searches
Searches related to william wordsworth poems
