written by William WordsworthOne who was suffering tumult in his soul,
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth--his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;
While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear
Large space ('mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disc--shield of Tranquillity;
Invisible, unlooked-for, minister
Of providential goodness ever nigh!
William Wordsworth
written by William Wordsworth, published on Thu 10.29.2009 at 01:33
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 10.24.2009 at 09:02
Up with me! up with me into the clouds!
For thy song, Lark, is strong;
Up with me, up with me into the clouds!
written by William Wordsworth, published on Wed 10.14.2009 at 10:30
Seven Daughter had Lord Archibald,
All children of one mother:
You could not say in one short day
written by William Wordsworth, published on Fri 10.09.2009 at 01:48
O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 10.03.2009 at 12:20
ONCE did she hold the gorgeous East in fee;
And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
written by William Wordsworth, published on Sat 09.05.2009 at 17:43
SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
