poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge
, helped to launch the Romantic Age
in English literature
with the 1798 joint publication Lyrical Ballads
.
Wordsworth's magnum opus
is generally considered to be The Prelude
, a semiautobiographical poem of his early years which he revised and expanded a number of times. It was posthumously titled and published, prior to which it was generally known as the poem "to Coleridge".
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
There's something in a flying horse,There's something in a huge balloon;But through the clouds I'll never floatUntil I have a little Boat,Shaped like the crescent-moon.
A primrose by a river's brimA yellow primrose was to him,And it was nothing more.
I traveled among unknown men,In lands beyond the sea;Nor, England! did I know till thenWhat love I bore to thee.
Much converse do I find in thee,Historian of my infancy!Float near me; do not yet depart!Dead times revive in thee:Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!A solemn image to my heart.
Behold, within the leafy shade,Those bright blue eggs together laid!On me the chance-discovered sightGleamed like a vision of delight.
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;And humble cares,and delicate fears;A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;And love, and thought, and joy.
Sweet childish days, that were as longAs twenty days are now.
Like an army defeatedThe snow hath retreated,And now doth fare illOn the top of the bare hill;The Ploughboy is whooping— anon— anon!There's joy in the mountains:There's life in the fountains;Small clouds are sailing,Blue sky prevailing;The rain is over and gone.