Through Cumbrian wilds, in many a mountain cove
Through shattered galleries, 'mid roofless halls Thus all things lead to Charity, secured
Thus is the storm abated by the craft
'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined. Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold
Tis said that some have died for love
'Tis said that to the brow of yon fair hill
Under the shadow of a stately Pile Ungrateful Country, if thou e'er forget Unless to Peter's Chair the viewless wind Unquiet Childhood here by special grace Untouched through all severity of cold. 'Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away Up to the throne of God is borne. Up! Up! my Friend, and quit your books Up with me! up with me into the clouds Urged by Ambition, who with subtlest skill Uttered by whom, or how inspired-designed
Vallombrosa! I longed in thy shadiest wood 'Vallombrosa-I longed in thy shadiest wood Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent Vasco, whose bold and happy mainyard spread
'Wait, prithee, wait!' this answer Lesbia threw . Wanderer! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near Wansfell! this Household has a favoured lot Ward of the Law! dread Shadow of a King. Was it to disenchant, and to undo. Was the aim frustrated by force or guile Watch, and be firm! for, soul-subduing vice. 'Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind We can endure that He should waste our lands Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the air. We gaze-nor grieve to think that we must die We had a female Passenger who came. We have not passed into a doleful City. Well have yon Railway Labourers to THIS ground
Well may'st thou halt-and gaze with brightening eye Well sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains Well worthy to be magnified are they
Were there, below, a spot of holy ground
Were there, below, a spot of holy ground (earlier version)
We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd
We talked with open heart, and tongue.
We walked along, while bright and red.
What aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in size What aspect bore the Man who roved or fled What awful perspective! while from our sight 'What beast in wilderness or cultured field What beast of chase hath broken from the cover
What crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass
What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine
What! He-who, 'mid the kindred throng.
What is good for a bootless bene?
'What know we of the Blest above
What lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose What mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret What need of clamorous bells, or ribands gay What strong allurement draws, what spirit guides. What though the Accused, upon his own appeal What though the Italian pencil wrought not here. What way does the Wind come? What way does he go? What, you are stepping westward?'—' Yea'
When Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant cry Whence that low voice?-A whisper from the heart When, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn When first, descending from the moorlands When haughty expectations prostrate lie When here with Carthage Rome to conflict came When human touch (as monkish books attest) When I have borne in memory what has tamed When in the antique age of bow and spear When, looking on the present face of things When Love was born of heavenly line When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle When Ruth was left half desolate .
When Severn's sweeping flood had overthrown When the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch When thy great soul was freed from mortal chains. When, to the attractions of the busy world Where are they now, those wanton Boys Where art thou, my beloved Son . Where be the noisy followers of the game Where be the temples which in Britain's Isle Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go Where lies the truth? has Man, in wisdom's creed Where long and deeply hath been fixed the root Where towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds Where will they stop, those breathing Powers While Anna's peers and early playmates tread While beams of orient light shoot wide and high While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport.
While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields While poring Antiquarians search the ground While the Poor gather round, till the end of time 'Who but hails the sight with pleasure Who but is pleased to watch the morn on high Who comes-with rapture greeted, and caress'd Who fancied what a pretty sight
Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
Who ponders National events shall find
Who rashly strove thy Image to portray
Who rises on the banks of Seine
Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce.
Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle
Why should we weep or mourn, Angelic boy Why sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky Within her gilded cage confined
Within our happy Castle there dwelt One
'With sacrifice before the rising morn
With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh Woe to the Crown that doth the Cowl obey 'Woe to you, Prelates! rioting in ease. Woman! the Power who left his throne on high Wouldst thou be gathered to Christ's chosen flock. Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has taken flight Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave
Ye Apennines! with all your fertile vales Ye brood of Conscience-Spectres! that frequent Ye Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace Yes, if the intensities of hope and fear Yes, it was the mountain Echo
Yes, thou art fair, yet be not moved
Yes, though He well may tremble at the sound Ye Storms, resound the praises of your King Yet are they here, the same unbroken knot Yet many a Novice of the cloistral shade Yet more,-round many a Convent's blazing fire Ye, too, must fly before a chasing hand. Ye Trees! whose slender roots entwine
Yet Truth is keenly sought for, and the wind Yet, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes Ye vales and hills whose beauty hither drew. You call it, 'Love lies bleeding,'-so you may You have heard a Spanish Lady
YOUNG ENGLAND-what is then become of Old .
NOTE.-Poems not possessing titles should as a rule be sought in the Index of First Lines; but a few will be found in this Index under titles supplied from their subject-matter. This Index, being intended solely for convenience of reference, does not aim at giving the literal titles of the poems as named by Wordsworth.
AAR, The Fall of the, ii. 90. Abbeys, Old, ii. 278.
Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle, ii. 300.
to a Child, i. 118.
to Kilchurn Castle, ii. 13.
to my Infant Daughter, i. 282. to the Scholars of the Village School of - iii. 7.
Admonition, i. 432.
Eneid, Translation of Part of the First
Book of the, iii. 427.
Aerial Rock, i. 435.
Affliction of Margaret
Afflictions of England, ii. 264.
Anticipation (October 1803), ii. 50. of leaving School, Composed in, i. I. Apennines, Among the Ruins of a Convent in the, ii. 136.
Apology (Eccl. Son., 1st Part), L 236.
(Eccl. Son., 2nd Part), ii. 255. (Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death), i, 396.
(Yarrow Revisited), ii. 181. Applethwaite, i. 433.
Aquapendente, Musings near, ii. 116.
The, i. Armenian Lady's Love, The, i. 221. Artegal and Elidure, i. 155. Authors, A Plea for, i. 476. Author's Portrait, To the, i. 470. Avarice, The last Stage of, ii. 481. Avon, The (Annan), ii. 178.
After-thought (Tour on Continent), ii. 91.
(Duddon), ii. 165.
Ailsa Crag, Frith of Clyde, ii. 310. Airey-Force Valley, i. 307. Aix-la-Chapelle, ii. 87.
Alban Hills, From the, ii. 128. Albano, At, ii. 127.
Ancient History, On a celebrated Event
in (Two Son.), ii. 52.
Andrew Jones, iii. 420.
Anecdote for Fathers, i. 128.
Beggar, Old Cumberland, ii. 473- Beggars (Two Poems), i. 318.
Animal Tranquillity and Decay, ii. Beloved Vale,' i. 432.
Benefits, Other (Two Son.), ii. 247. Bible, Translation of the, ii. 257. Binnorie, The Solitude of, i. 260.
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