Editors

Why, William, on that old gray stone,Thus for the length of half a day,Why, William, sit you thus alone,And dream your time away? "Where are your books? that light bequeathedTo Beings else forlorn and blind!Up! up! and drink the spirit breathedFrom dead men to their kind. "You look round on your Mother Earth,As if she for no purpose bore you;As if you were her first-born … [Read more...] about Expostulation And Reply, By: William Wordsworth

Giordano, verily thy Pencil's skillHath here portrayed with Nature's happiest graceThe fair Endymion couched on Latmos-hill;And Dian gazing on the Shepherd's faceIn rapture, yet suspending her embrace,As not unconscious with what power the thrillOf her most timid touch his sleep would chase,And, with his sleep, that beauty calm and still.Oh may this work have found its last … [Read more...] about Evening Voluntaries – To Lucca Giordano, By: William Wordsworth

Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stressOf a bedimming sleep, or as a lampSuddenly glaring through sepulchral damp,So burns yon Taper 'mid a black recessOf mountains, silent, dreary, motionless:The lake below reflects it not; the sky,Muffled in clouds, affords no companyTo mitigate and cheer its loneliness.Yet, round the body of that joyless ThingWhich sends so far its … [Read more...] about Even As A Dragon’s Eye That Feels The Stress, By: William Wordsworth

Ere with cold beads of midnight dewHad mingled tears of thine,I grieved, fond Youth! that thou shouldst sueTo haughty Geraldine. Immoveable by generous sighs,She glories in a trainWho drag, beneath our native skies,An oriental chain. Pine not like them with arms across,Forgetting in thy careHow the fast-rooted trees can tossTheir branches in mid air. The humblest … [Read more...] about Ere With Cold Beads Of Midnight Dew, By: William Wordsworth

Not without heavy grief of heart did HeOn whom the duty fell (for at that timeThe father sojourned in a distant land)Deposit in the hollow of this tombA brother's Child, most tenderly beloved!FRANCESCO was the name the Youth had borne,POZZOBONNELLI his illustrious house;And, when beneath this stone the Corse was laid,The eyes of all Savona streamed with tears.Alas! the … [Read more...] about Epitaphs VIII. Not Without Heavy Grief Of Heart Did He, By: William Wordsworth