William Wordsworth Poems

I TRAVELL'D among unknown men,
   In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
   What love I bore to thee.
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquility;
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The little hedgerow birds,
That peck along the roads, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression: every limb,
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STRANGE fits of passion have I known:
   And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover's ear alone,
   What once to me befell.
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SURPRISED by joy--impatient as the Wind
   I turned to share the transport--O! with whom
   But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
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I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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STAY near me---do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find I thee,
Historian of my infancy !
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The young Lady to whom this was addressed was my Sister. It was
composed at school, and during my two first College vacations.
There is not an image in it which I have not observed; and now, in
my seventy-third year, I recollect the time and place where most
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'Tis eight o'clock,--a clear March night,
The moon is up,--the sky is blue,
The owlet, in the moonlight air,
Shouts from nobody knows where;
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