October, 1803 by William Wordsworth

October, 1803
by William Wordsworth

These times strike monied worldlings with dismay:

Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air

With words of apprehension and despair:

While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,

Men unto whom sufficient for the day

And minds not stinted or untilled are given,

Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven,

Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.

What do we gather hence but firmer faith

That every gift of noble origin

Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath;

That virtue and the faculties within

Are vital,—and that riches are akin

To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?

Brilliant and timeless. A link to read more is here. http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/Jwordsworth.htm

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

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,

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,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Wonderful imagery and so sweet. A link to read more is here. http://www.online-literature.com/wordsworth/

Surprised by Joy by William Wordsworth

Surprised by Joy

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind

I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom

But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,

That spot which no vicissitude can find?

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—

But how could I forget thee?—Through what power,

Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return

Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;

That neither present time, nor years unborn

Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

Beautiful sonnet by a master. A link to his bio here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Wordsworth