William Wordsworth,1770-1850 Lines Written in Early Spring(1797) 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 sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played: Their thoughts I cannot measure, But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think,do all I can, That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man? She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways (1799) She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love:
William Wordsworth, 1770 - 1850 Lines Written in Early Spring (1797) 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 sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And ‘tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played: Their thoughts I cannot measure, But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature’s holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man? She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways (1799) 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！ The Daffodils(1806) 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: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced,but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A Poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed-and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft,when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. The Solitary Reaper (1806)
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! The Daffodils (1806) 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: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A Poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. The Solitary Reaper (1806)
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 Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings?- Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old,unhappy,far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow,loss,or pain, That has been,and may be again? Whate'er the theme,the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;- I listen'd,motionless and still; And,as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. It Is a Beauteous Evening,Calm and Free It is a beauteous evening,calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration;the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility;
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 Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o’er the sickle bending;— I listen’d, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. It Is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea; Listen!the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly. Dear child!dear Girl!that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not
The gentleness of heaven broods o’er the Sea; Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder—everlastingly. Dear child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham’s bosom all the year; And worshipp’st at the Temple’s inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not
