Editors

Why should we weep or mourn, Angelic boy,For such thou wert ere from our sight removed,Holy, and ever dutiful belovedFrom day to day with never-ceasing joy,And hopes as dear as could the heart employIn aught to earth pertaining? Death has provedHis might, nor less his mercy, as behoved,Death conscious that he only could destroyThe bodily frame. That beauty is laid lowTo moulder … [Read more...] about Sonnet, By: William Wordsworth

Though the torrents from their fountainsRoar down many a craggy steep,Yet they find among the mountainsResting-places calm and deep. Clouds that love through air to hasten,Ere the storm its fury stills,Helmet-like themselves will fastenOn the heads of towering hills. What, if through the frozen centreOf the Alps the Chamois bound,Yet he has a home to enterIn some nook of … [Read more...] about Song Of The Wandering Jew, By: William Wordsworth

Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel!Night has brought the welcome hour,When the weary fingers feelHelp, as if from faery power;Dewy night o'ershades the ground;Turn the swift wheel round and round! Now, beneath the starry sky,Couch the widely-scattered sheep;Ply the pleasant labour, ply!For the spindle, while they sleep,Runs with speed more smooth and fine,Gathering up a … [Read more...] about Song Of The Spinning Wheel, By: William Wordsworth

High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.The words of ancient time I thus translate,A festal strain that hath been silent long:"From town to town, from tower to tower,The red rose is a gladsome flower.Her thirty years of winter past,The red rose is revived at last;She lifts her head for endless spring,For everlasting blossoming:Both … [Read more...] about Song At The Feast Of Brougham Castle, By: William Wordsworth

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:And, when I crossed the wild,I chanced to see at break of dayThe solitary child. No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;She dwelt on a wide moor,The sweetest thing that ever grewBeside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play,The hare upon the green;But the sweet face of Lucy GrayWill never more be seen. "To-night will be a stormy nightYou to … [Read more...] about Solitude, Or Lucy Gray, By: William Wordsworth