Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013
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Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 Wordsworth Poems: Contents “My Heart Leaps Up” ......................................................................................................... 2 I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud ......................................................................................... 2 "The World Is Too Much With Us " ................................................................................... 3 The Solitary Reaper ............................................................................................................ 4 We Are Seven ..................................................................................................................... 5 Expostulation And Reply .................................................................................................... 7 The Tables Turned; An Evening Scene, On The Same Subject. ........................................ 8 Lines Written In Early Spring ............................................................................................. 9 Wordsworth, The Prelude, Book Fifth ............................................................................ 14 Ode: Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood .................... 16 1 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 “MY HEART LEAPS UP” 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 So be it when I shall grow old, 5 Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vale and hill When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 5 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: 10 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, 15 In such a jocund company; I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought; For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, 20 They flash upon that inward eye That is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. 1804 1807 2 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 "THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US " THE world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 10 So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 1806. 3 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 THE SOLITARY REAPER BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 5 And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands 10 Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas 15 Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: 20 Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang 25 As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;— I listen'd, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, 30 The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more 4 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 WE ARE SEVEN — A simple Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: 10 Her eyes were fair, and very fair; --Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. 20 "Two of us in the church-yard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the church-yard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." "You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell, Sweet Maid, how this may be." Then did the little Maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; 30 Two of us in the church-yard lie, Beneath the church-yard tree." "You run about, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive; 5 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. 40 "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. "And often after sunset, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. "The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, 50 Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. "So in the church-yard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." 60 "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" Quick was the little Maid's reply, "O Master! we are seven." "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!" 1798 6 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY “Why William, on that old grey 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 bequeath’d “To beings else forlorn and blind! “Up! Up! and drink the spirit breath’d “From 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 birth, “And none had lived before you!” One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, When life was sweet I knew not why, To me my good friend Matthew spake, And thus I made reply. “The eye it cannot chuse but see, “We cannot bid the ear be still; “Our bodies feel, where’er they be, “Against, or with our will. “Nor less I deem that there are powers, “Which of themselves our minds impress. “That we can feed this mind of ours, “In a wise passiveness. “Think you, mid all this mighty sum “Of things for ever speaking, “That nothing of itself will come, “But we must still be seeking? “ Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, “Conversing as I may, “I sit upon this old grey stone, “And dream my time away.” 7 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 THE TABLES TURNED; AN EVENING SCENE, ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks, Why all this toil and trouble? Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you’ll grow double. The sun above the mountain’s head, A freshening lustre mellow, Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books! ‘tis a dull and endless strife, Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music; on my life There’s more of wisdom in it. And hark! How blithe the throstle sings! And he is no mean preacher; Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by chearfulness. One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man; Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mishapes the beauteous forms of things; We murder to dissect. Enough of science and of art; Close up these barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives. 8 Wordsworth, Poems 15 May, 2013 LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING I heard a thousand blended notes, While in grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it griev’d me my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose-tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trail’d its wreathes; And ‘tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.