William Wordsworth Poems

A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore
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There is a change- and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
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Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover's ear alone,
What once to me befell.
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A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound;
Then--all at once the air was still,
And showers of hailstones pattered round.
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My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
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FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
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A slumber did my spirit seal
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
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--------A Simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
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Earth has not anything 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
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