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There's more in words than I can teach:Yet listen, Child! I would not preach;But only give some plain directionsTo guide your speech and your affections.Say not you 'love' a roasted fowl,But you may love a screaming owl.And, if you can, the unwieldy toadThat crawls from his secure abodeWithin the mossy garden wallWhen evening dews begin to fall.Oh mark the beauty of his … [Read more...] about Loving And Liking – Irregular Verses – Addressed To A Child (By My Sister), By: William Wordsworth

You call it, "Love lies bleeding," so you may,Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops,As we have seen it here from day to day,From month to month, life passing not away:A flower how rich in sadness! Even thus stoops,(Sentient by Grecian sculpture's marvelous power)Thus leans, with hanging brow and body bentEarthward in uncomplaining languishmentThe dying Gladiator. … [Read more...] about Love Lies Bleeding, By: William Wordsworth

I met Louisa in the shade,And, having seen that lovely Maid,Why should I fear to sayThat, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong,And down the rocks can leap alongLike rivulets in May? She loves her fire, her cottage-home;Yet o'er the moorland will she roamIn weather rough and bleak;And, when against the wind she strains,Oh! might I kiss the mountain rainsThat sparkle on her … [Read more...] about Louisa After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion, By: William Wordsworth

Look now on that Adventurer who hath paidHis vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slightOf virtuous hope, of liberty, and right,Hath followed wheresoe'er a way was madeBy the blind Goddess, ruthless, undismayed;And so hath gained at length a prosperous height,Round which the elements of worldly mightBeneath his haughty feet, like clouds, are laid.O joyless power that stands by … [Read more...] about Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid, By: William Wordsworth

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:England hath need of thee: she is a fenOf stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,Have forfeited their ancient English dowerOf inward happiness. We are selfish men;Oh! raise us up, return to us again;And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:Thou … [Read more...] about London, 1802, By: William Wordsworth