The Complete Poetical Works Of William Wordsworth V1

by William Wordsworth, John Morley (Introduction)

This is a reproduction of a book published before 1923. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understanding of the imperfections in the preservation process, and hope you enjoy this valuable book.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, Literature

468 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1869

About the author

William Wordsworth (1770-1850) was a major English romantic poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped launch the Romantic Age in English literature with their 1798 joint publication, Lyrical Ballads.

Wordsworth's masterpiece is generally considered to be The Prelude, an autobiographical poem of his early years, which the poet revised and expanded a number of times. The work was posthumously titled and published, prior to which, it was generally known as the poem "to Coleridge". Wordsworth was England's Poet Laureate from 1843 until his death in 1850.

Reviews

[Morning Glory]

Beautiful, lots of nature poems contrasting with ugly true stories of tragic people. Loved his little journal entries filling in the backstories. And Anecdote for Fathers!!! So wholesome and realistic! Also liked the Tables Turned, about leaving studies for outdoor time/experience.
“And Hope itself was all I knew of pain.” 104
“the farewell light blends with the solemn coloring of the night… like Una shining on her gloomy way, The half-seen form of Twilight roams astray.” 132
“And thou, lost fragrance of the heart, return! Alas! the little joy to man allowed, Fades like the lustre of an evening cloud, or like the beauty in a flower installed, Whose season was, and cannot be recalled.” 281
“À cloak he wore of military red But faded and struck o’er with many a patch and shred.” 404
“For years the work of carnage did not cease… and death’s dire aspect daily he surveyed…” 415
“And tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.” 865, Lines Written in Early Spring

[Marsha]

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