Treasure Island

William Wordsworth

(1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

Written in March


The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy 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!

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

Do you like this poem?
4 person liked.
1 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: snow, work, rain, green, joy, sky, sun, life, sleep

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Written in March by William Wordsworth )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. The Dreams Of Youth, Edgar Albert Guest
  2. On Station Farewells, Edgar Albert Guest
  3. The Bank Roll, Edgar Albert Guest
  4. Comradeship, Edgar Albert Guest
  5. Ode to Breeze, Sourabh Mishra
  6. The Choir At Pixley, Edgar Albert Guest
  7. Good Friday, Edgar Albert Guest
  8. The Neighbors, Edgar Albert Guest
  9. The Tempters, Edgar Albert Guest
  10. Wie er om vroeg?, Madrason writer

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson


The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]