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(1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

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It was an April morning: fresh and clear

It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied
Was softened down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of June; as if their various hues
Were only hindrances that stood between
Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed
Such an entire contentment in the air
That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the summer.--Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
Or like some natural produce of the air,
That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
But 'twas the foliage of the rocks--the birch,
The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
With hanging islands of resplendent furze:
And, on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
'Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee.'
----Soon did the spot become my other home,
My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there,
To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
Years after we are gone and in our graves,
When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Edited: Monday, January 02, 2012


Read poems about / on: june, april, dog, green, strength, winter, sometimes, summer, tree, song, home, running, hope, water

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Comments about this poem (A Poet's Epitaph by William Wordsworth )

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  • Paul Reed (2/10/2014 4:37:00 AM)

    How Wordsworth captured the essence of Springtime! The spirit of enjoyment and desire, and hopes and wishes from all living things...

    0 person liked.
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  • Sagar Shelar (2/10/2012 11:51:00 AM)

    Really heart's close poem.

  • Carlos Echeverria (2/10/2012 10:39:00 AM)

    Marvelous imagery: SOFTENED DOWN INTO A VERNAL TONE.

  • Ranny Melvis (2/10/2012 6:51:00 AM)

    this is a very interesting poem i really love the poem i will like to let the writer knows that he is a great man i wish to talk to him thanks

  • Manonton Dalan (2/10/2012 4:46:00 AM)

    i long for this scenery now that it is freezing cold in virginia.
    what a beautiful place to be... blooming spring.

  • Manonton Dalan (2/10/2012 4:44:00 AM)

    it's a beautiful spring to eyes of a poet...picturesque,
    marvelous

  • Prince Obed de la Cruz (2/10/2010 7:39:00 PM)

    William Wordsworth is really one of the best poets in the past!

  • Emma_1221@list.ru Adamyan (2/10/2010 11:58:00 AM)

    I must tell my intuition made me click on this poem and toward the end I got why. I`m proud to read my name between the lines of such a great poet. Loved the poem as I love April

  • Kevin Straw (2/10/2010 5:37:00 AM)

    Woolly romanticism. Give me a poet with a brain as well as a heart!

  • Terence George Craddock (2/10/2010 3:28:00 AM)

    Gives an entire new meaning to the traditional view of Wordsworth as a nature lover, all those negative ions from the water and vibrant nature exciting his brain cells and raising the sap. Wordsworth never married his French lover, the two timer, that bore him a daughter in France did he? An intriguing poem, dedicated to a woman and a place of meeting, that made a deep impression upon him. A self dedication to the young man that ran and his Emma that received him so willingly with an moralized love.

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