William Wordsworth Poems

Send this man to the mine, this to the battle,
Famish an aged beggar at your gates,
And let him die by inches- but for worlds
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CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars
Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
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WITHIN our happy castle there dwelt One
Whom without blame I may not overlook;
For never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took:
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ADVANCE-come forth from thy Tyrolean ground,
Dear Liberty! stern Nymph of soul untamed;
Sweet Nymph, O rightly of the mountains named!
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She had a tall man's height or more;
Her face from summer's noontide heat
No bonnet shaded, but she wore
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SIX thousand veterans practised in war's game,
Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed
Against an equal host that wore the plaid,
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There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
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"What, you are stepping westward?"--"Yea."

---'T would be a wildish destiny,
If we, who thus together roam
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The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
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SHOUT, for a mighty Victory is won!
On British ground the Invaders are laid low;
The breath of Heaven has drifted them like snow,
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