Poetry Catalog

The forest huge of ancient CaledonIs but a name, no more is Inglewood,That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood:On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone;Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none,Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deignWith Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again,To kill for merry feast their venison.Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding … [Read more...] about Suggested By A View From An Eminence In Inglewood Forest, By: William Wordsworth

The gentlest Poet, with free thoughts endowed,And a true master of the glowing strain,Might scan the narrow province with disdainThat to the Painter's skill is here allowed.This, this the Bird of Paradise! disclaimThe daring thought, forget the name;This the Sun's Bird, whom Glendoveers might ownAs no unworthy Partner in their flightThrough seas of ether, where the ruffling … [Read more...] about Suggested By A Picture Of The Bird Of Paradise, By: William Wordsworth

Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook,And all that Greece and Italy have sungOf Swains reposing myrtle groves among!'Ours' couch on naked rocks, will cross a brookSwoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a lookThis way or that, or give it even a thoughtMore than by smoothest pathway may be broughtInto a vacant mind. Can written bookTeach what 'they' learn? Up, hardy … [Read more...] about Suggested At Tyndrum In A Storm, By: William Wordsworth

By their floating mill,That lies dead and still,Behold yon Prisoners three,The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames!The platform is small, but gives room for them all;And they're dancing merrily. From the shore come the notesTo their mill where it floats,To their house and their mill tethered fast:To the small wooden isle where, their work to beguile,They from … [Read more...] about Stray Pleasures, By: William Wordsworth

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. When she I loved looked every dayFresh as a rose in June,I to her cottage bent my way,Beneath an evening-moon. Upon the moon I fixed my eye,All over the wide lea;With quickening pace my horse drew nighThose paths so dear to me. And now we reached the … [Read more...] about Strange Fits Of Passion Have I Known, By: William Wordsworth