William Wordsworth Sonnet Poems

Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakspeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
...

I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide,
   As being pass'd away.--Vain sympathies!
   For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
...

NUNS fret not at their convent's narrow room,
   And hermits are contented with their cells,
   And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
...

DEGENERATE Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord!
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please,
And love of havoc, (for with such disease
...

IT is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
...

SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frown'd,
   Mindless of its just honours; with this key
   Shakespeare unlock'd his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
...

She wept.--Life's purple tide began to flow
In languid streams through every thrilling vein;
Dim were my swimming eyes--my pulse beat slow,
...